


You've Got To Be Kidding Me

by ShinSolo



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Andy also has issues, Assorted Angst Moments, Attempt at Humor, But at least he's not pregnant like Patrick, Cheating, Childbirth, Denial, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Gender or Sex Swap, Girl Patrick, Heterosexual Sex, Homosexual Sex, Imperfect Relationship, M/M, Mild Language, Mpreg, One-Sided Relationship, Other, Out of characterness, Pregnant Sex, Pregnat Patrick, Sexual Content, Sometimes Joe is also a douche, Sometimes Pete Wentz is a douche, This is all somehow Andy's fault, Voyeurism, faked orgasm, life is not fair, not everything can have a happy ending, or can they?, spherical people, the writing in this really does get better with each chapter, witch hazel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 21:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 40,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinSolo/pseuds/ShinSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete uses Witch Hazel to clean a cut on Patrick's face -- ignoring a warning from Andy. What occurred as a result was something none of the boys, especially Patrick, expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Not Like He's Bleeding To Death

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in 2005, finished it around 2007. It is an older work of mine, but since the site it was originally featured on no longer exists (damn you fandomination), this will be it's new home. It is also the first and only chapter fic I have ever written. I spent a lot of time on it and even though it is far from perfect, it still means a lot to me. Enjoy!

"Whoa, Stop. Hold on guys. Patrick? You all right?" Pete called out, bringing our rehearsal to a stop as he put his hand on my shoulder. "This is the fourth time today that you’ve gotten off. If something's wrong, let me know so I can try an’ fix you before our show this weekend."  
  
I bit into my bottom lip, mad at myself for screwing up.  
  
"I'm fine . . ."  
  
"Are you sure?" Pete asked as he leaned closer toward me, his lips brushing against my ear. "You're not yourself today, hun."  
  
His breath caused a slight shudder to coarse through my veins and for a split second the rest of the world seemed to disappear.  
  
Pete laughed and ran his hand through my hair, knocking my hat to the ground.  
  
"Let's take that back from the beginning guys."  
  
Once again we started playing and everything seemed to go better until the last few bars of the song. Then without warning one of the strings on my guitar snapped and made contact with the left side of my face. My hands flew up and blood splattered on my glasses.  
  
"Shit!" -- Pete dropped his bass and was at my side before the others even realized what had happened. -- "Andy, the first aid kit's in the cabinet above the stove," he called out as he pulled me toward the couch. "Let me see, babe."  
  
I reluctantly allowed him to pry my hands away from my face, but kept my eyes closed tight. The site of blood always made me nauseous, especially when it was my own. My head was pounding, and I did not know if I wanted to cry or scream at the top of my lungs for everyone to get the hell away fro me so Pete could kiss it better.  
  
"Babe, it's not that bad. I promise," Pete said softly, laying his head against my forehead.  
  
"I fuck everything up . . ." I whispered as I slowly opened my eyes.  
  
"Patrick, I love you." -- He removed my glasses and set them aside. -- "And the only thing you will ever fuck is I."  
  
Joe cleared his throat from across the room, his sign to us that if Pete said or did anything else sexual, he was going to leave.  
  
Last year, when Pete had announced that he and I were ‘dating,’ Joe had taken the news the hardest. The concept of two guys kissing and ‘being in love’ had almost been too much for him to handle, and even after sharing a tour bus with us for four months during our last tour, he still had not gotten used to Pete's random displays of affection toward me.  
  
A few moments later, Andy arrived with the first aid kit and sat on the floor near Pete's feet, sorting through its contents.  
  
"I hope he's not bleeding to death because you're running really low on first aid supplies." -- Andy laughed and patted my foot in an attempt to comfort me. -- "Three band-aids, some generic aspirin, a small bottle of witch hazel, an empty bottle of peroxide, a few cotton balls, and a condom . . ."  
  
Pete jerked the box from his hands.  
  
"You left out the rat turds. Now help me patch up my Patrick before he goes into traumatic shock."  
  
"You make it sound like the guitar mutilated his body," Andy said laughing as he took two of the band-aids away from Pete. "Come here, Trick."  
  
"We have to clean it up first, or it will get infected. Guitar strings aren't the cleanest things in the world you know," Pete argued while opening the witch hazel bottle and pouring some onto a cotton ball  
  
"I wouldn't use witch hazel if I were you," Andy said as he took the bottle from Pete and recapped it.  
  
"Why the hell not?"  
  
I pushed Pete's hand away from my face before he could touch me with the cotton ball and looked at Andy.  
  
"Yeah, why not?"  
  
"I've heard bad things about witch hazel, guys." -- He turned the bottle in his hands, reading the label. -- "My grandmother and her friends used to swear it could do some pretty wild things."  
  
"Bad things?" -- Pete sniffed the cotton ball. -- "They wouldn't sell it at Wal-Mart if it was harmful."  
  
"Something about how witch hazel makes the outer body the same as the inner self, so it can heal faster," Andy said as he shrugged and dropped the bottle back into the first aid kit.  
  
I gripped Pete's free hand.  
  
"Does it sting?" I asked.  
  
"I'm still not so sure I'd use witch hazel . . ."  
  
"Oh, come on, Andy." -- Pete laughed and began cleaning the blood off my face. -- "You are too superstitious sometimes. I bet my right testicle your granny was a little more than koo-koo."  
  
Andy sighed. He knew it was useless to try and argue with Pete.  
  
"There, there, babe," Pete said. "It's smaller than it looked. Here,” -- He took the band-aids from Andy. -- "Let's cover it up before it begins bleeding again."  
  
Pete bandaged up my cheek and kissed my forehead.  
  
"All better."  
  
Joe stood up and stretched.  
  
"I'm going to turn the amps off if we're not going to play anymore," he announced.  
  
"That's fine, Joe," I said leaning against Pete's chest, his arms wrapping around me.  
  
Joe glanced from Pete and me to Andy.  
  
"You still giving me a ride home, right?"  
  
"Yeah," -- Andy pushed himself up of the floor and looked around the room for his keys. -- "I guess we're going to go ahead and get out of here. Tomorrow?"  
  
"Same time as always," Pete responded, his eyes closed.  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
"See you guys tomorrow then."  
  
"Yeah, take care guys."  
  
Neither Pete nor I moved until we heard Andy's car start and back out of the drive way.  
  
"Do you want me to run you by your place for anything, or are we good?" Pete whispered into my hair once we were alone.  
  
"I'm good." -- I laughed. -- "Why do you still ask that anyways? Most of my shit is here already, except for my toothbrush and I use yours anyways."  
  
"That's gross, man . . ."  
  
"Only because you have a strange thing with your teeth. The way I see it, I've already sucked your dick, so why not use your toothbrush."  
  
Pete pulled me astride his lap and gently kissed me.  
  
"I love you," he whispered.  
  
"I love you too, but think about it. If I suck your dick after you fuck me, then I'm inadvertently getting my own shit and your piss in my mouth. Then if I kiss you after that, you are getting that all in y . . ."  
  
I was cut off by Pete's lips pressed against my own.  
  
"I don't care . . ." he whispered into the kiss, his hands sliding beneath the back of my shirt.  
  
"You do to care, you just don't want to think about it,” I teased him after breaking the kiss.  
  
"This is true." -- He opened his eyes half way. -- "Oh, but remember last week when I sucked you off right before the guys came over for practice?"  
  
"Yeah," I said, narrowing my eyes and wondering what he was about to say.  
  
"And it just happened to be that I sucked you off after one of the rare occasions I let you top me . . ."  
  
"I remember . . ."  
  
"Then you also remember that later on that night, Joe drank out of the same water bottle that I drank out of right after I sucked you off."  
  
The color drained from my face.  
  
"Oh, god . . ."  
  
"So then Joe inadvertently got my shit, your piss, and a little of both of our cum in his mouth . . ."  
  
"Oh, god!" I screamed, laughing so hard I nearly fell off Pete's lap. "Oh, god . . . you win . . I . . . I'm never going to be able to look at Joe with a straight face again . . ."  
  
"This is also true," Pete smirked and hooked his fingers in my belt loops. "So . . . what do you what to do tonight?"  
  
I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment.  
  
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"  
  
Pete narrowed his eyes and pulled me closer, kicking off his shoes.  
  
"You," he whispered, nibbling on my ear lobe.  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Yeah . . . you," he replied.  
  
His lips were once again pressed to mine and I eagerly opened my mouth to allow his tongue entrance. He tangled his hands in my hair and deepened the kiss.  
  
A soft moan escaped Pete and his eyes remained closed even after our lips parted.  
  
When he finally opened them, I smiled.  
  
"So what do you really want to do?" I asked him, my hands slowly running down his chest.  
  
"I already told you, you."  
  
Pete's breathe caught in his throat as I ran a single finger over the ever present bulge in his jeans.  
  
"Are you sure?" I said innocently. "Because we can always just get something to eat or maybe work on adjusting the melody to that song you showed me the other day." -- I casually toyed with the zipper of his jeans, zipping and unzipping it over and over again as I spoke. -- "I am kinda hungry now that I think about it. Are you hungry Pete?"  
  
I locked eyes with him, smiling coyly.  
  
"Yeah, I guess you can say that I'm hungry . . ." -- He slowly began to unbutton my shirt. -- "But I'd much rather stay in to satisfy my cravings as opposed to going out for something."  
  
I stuck my bottom lip out and pouted.  
  
"But, Petah! There's nothing here worth eating."  
  
"Nothing worth eating?" Pete scoffed. "Oh . . .you little . . ." -- He pulled my shirt off my shoulders. -- "I'll show you."  
  
The two of us were immediately locked in a passionate kiss, Pete's hands trying to make contact with as much of my bare skin as possible.  
  
"You . . . are so . . . mine tonight," Pete said as he kissed his way down my throat.  
  
I pulled his shirt over his head and slowly ran my fingers across his nipples, gently tugging on one of his nipple rings. He moaned against my throat, bitting into the tinder spot beneath my ear  
  
Pete suddenly grabbed onto my ass and forced me onto my back and beneath him on the couch.  
  
He sat astride me, unbuckled my belt, and with one swift motion of his wrist, Pete pulled it free of my pants and dropped it to the floor. I took over from there and pushed my jeans -- boxers and all -- off of my hips and kicked them off with my shoes.  
  
This was my favorite part -- the way Pete always looked at me when I was beneath him,  naked. Even if he never came out and said ‘I love you,’ again, that look alone would reassure me that he still did. No matter how fat or ugly I might think I am, at those times he made me feel beautiful.  
  
Pete licked his lips and ran a hand down my side.  
  
And when he opened his mouth to speak, I knew exactly what he was going to say, because the words never failed to leave his lips.  
  
"God, I almost forgot how beautiful you are when you're here with me, like this . . ."  
  
I blushed and opened my mouth to argue, but he placed a finger to my lips and silenced me.  
  
"And before you say it, I'd never lie to you," he whispered. "I love you."  
  
I smiled up at him  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
Neither of us spoke while I finished undressing him.  
  
When he finally kissed me again, I trembled, the feeling of his bare skin against mine overwhelming me.  
  
One of his hands tangled itself in my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss at the same time his other found its way between my legs.  
  
I gasped against his lips as he cupped my balls in the palm of his hand.  
  
"You like that baby?" He whispered, his voice low and raspy.  
  
I swallowed and tried to find the words to answer him, but when his fingers wrapped around my shaft all I could do was moan.  
  
He chucked in the back of his throat and nibbled at my collarbone.  
  
"You know we have no lube here . . . right?" -- He laid his head on my shoulder. -- “I'm not going to risk hurting you, babe."  
  
The whole time he spoke, his hand was steady working at my cock.  
  
"I . . . I don't care," I said through clenched teeth. "Just as long as you touch me."  
  
Pete smiled and kissed my forehead.  
  
"Anything you want . . ."  
  
He kissed a path from my jaw down my throat, stopping occasionally to tease my skin with his teeth.  
  
My eyes slipped shut as I reached for his own dick and ran my thumb over the head causing his teeth to break my skin near my collar bone.  
  
"Th . . .that's it, baby . . ." He moaned into my ear, his head falling back.  
  
By now my breath was already coming in gasps. Every move of his hand brought me closer to the edge.  
  
I struggled to match his pace and the soft noises he made were enough on their own to bring me to completion, but I did not want to finish first.  
  
Pete was now trembling.  
  
"Oh, baby. . . Don't stop, hun . . ." -- Pete dug the nails of his free hand into my upper arm. -- "Oh, Patrick, babe . . . I love you . . ."  
  
He closed his eyes tight and pressed hard against me before exploding into my hand. His orgasm was all that I had been waiting for and not a moment later I finished as well.  
  
"I love you, too," I whispered, before everything else melted away and I feel asleep in his arms.


	2. Dude, Where's My Sideburns?

I awoke with my head on Pete's chest. He had not been sleeping very much lately and if he was asleep, the last thing I wanted to do was to that from him.  
  
Sometime while I had been sleep, Pete had pulled the blanket from the back of the couch over us and I could not help but snuggle closer to Pete.  
  
"Good morning, Angel," he whispered into my ear.  
  
I turned my head up to look him in the eye.  
  
"I thought you were sleeping."  
  
He kissed my forehead.  
  
"You know I don't sleep." -- He smiled and tightened his arms around me. -- "I woke up a few minutes before you did. So don't worry about it, babe."  
  
I leaned forward to kiss him, but he turned his head last minute, causing my lips to land on his cheek.  
  
"Haven't brushed my teeth yet."  
  
He did not have to say it. He never let me kiss him before his teeth could be brushed, but I always tried. It bothered me that he always denied me a morning kiss.  
  
I would get one, one day.  
  
"What time is it?" I asked.  
  
Pete reached over me for his cell phone on the coffee table, but it rang before he could open it to check the time  
  
Pete groaned.  
  
"It's Joe. You answer it . . ." -- He handed me the phone. -- "He can always tell by my voice if I'm naked or dressed and it freaks him out."  
  
I laughed and answered the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Pe . . . Patrick?"  
  
"Hey, Joe." -- I yawned. -- "What's up?"  
  
"Is Pete around?"  
  
I handed Pete the phone and laid my head back on his shoulder, my fingers absentmindedly tracing over the bartskull logo on his stomach.  
  
He twisted strands of my hair between his fingers as he talked to Joe and sleep had almost reclaimed me when he finally closed his phone and tossed it back onto the table.  
  
"The venue we were scheduled to play at this weekend called and canceled."  
  
"So we're free this weekend?" I asked, grinning up at him.  
  
"Sure are." -- He gave me a strange look. -- "You're usually upset when places cancel on us last minute. . ."  
  
"I'd much rather spend Saturday with you." -- I pressed a kiss to his collarbone. -- "It's our anniversary, remember?"  
  
Pete's eyes lit up.  
  
"It is, isn't it. . ."  
  
I laughed.  
  
"You ever figure out what time it is?"  
  
He glared at me before once again reaching for his phone.  
  
For a while after that, the two of us laid in one another's arms on the couch with just a blanket to hide our nakedness. I loved every minute I had with Pete. He completed me and I him.  
  
"Patrick?" he whispered, pushing my hair out of my face. "It's nearly noon you hungry?"  
  
"Kinda." -- I sat up and stretched, the blanket pooling around my waist. -- “I could really go for something sweet."  
  
"Sweet?" Pete questioned with a goofy smile. "You mean like me?"  
  
I laughed and picked my boxers up off the floor.  
  
"Nah, I had you for dinner last night. I don't want the same thing for lunch today." -- Pete threw one of the couch pillows at me. -- "Hey, I love you," I said, laughing as I threw it back at him.  
  
I stood up and pulled my jeans on. They did not fit the same as they had when I had taken them off last night, but I did not bring it up. It was not fair that some people -- Pete especially -- could eat whatever they wanted, and do whatever they wanted to do, and still have the perfect body.  
  
Quickly, I slipped my shirt on, buttoned it, and went into the kitchen while Pete dressed.  
  
Everything felt odd. It was not just the way my pants fit and my sugar cravings.  It was also in the way I perceived things as well. The light in the kitchen seemed brighter, the refrigerator door seemed to take more effort to open.  
  
The smells of the fridge made me nauseous, but before I could close the door a sharp pain cut through my stomach. I pushed the door shut and slid to the floor holding my stomach.  
  
I had never felt anything like it before.  
  
The kitchen swelled around me before vanishing entirely for a moment, and then Pete was at my side.  
  
"Patrick? Patrick?" -- He was shaking me. -- "Oh god, baby. What's wrong?"  
  
Then everything went black.  
  
When I regained consciousness, I was in bed and Pete's digital clock read 5:30pm in bold red letters. I rubbed my eyes and looked around the room. There were faint sounds coming from the kitchen and I could hear both Andy and Pete arguing about something, but I could not make out their words.  
  
Was Pete crying? Surely I was hearing wrong.  
  
I climbed out of bed and pulled the T-shirt I was wearing over my head before reaching from my glasses on the night stand.  
  
"What the fuck?"  
  
What hair I had previously had on my chest and stomach was completely gone and my chest was slightly swollen around my nipples. Hesitantly I brought a hand to my chest, pressing on one of my nipples and then the other. They had not been sore like this since I had started going through puberty eight or nine years ago.  
  
"What the hell is happening to me?" I whispered as I leaned closer to the dresser mirror. My eyes widened farther when I noticed that my signature sideburns were gone and my hair appeared thicker.  
  
"Pete!" I yelled. I was now scared to death. Something was seriously wrong with me. "Peter! I NE . . . e . . ."  
  
My hands flew up to my throat when my voice squeaked and then Pete threw the bedroom door open.  
  
I was standing in the middle of our bedroom in nothing but my boxers. My hands at my throat instantly went down to cover my swollen chest when Joe appeared in the doorway behind him.  
  
"Oh god . . ." Joe whispered starring at me, his mouth open. "Oh holy fuck . . ."  
  
Pete did not say a word at first. He just stood there, eyes wide as he looked me over.  
  
When he finally did speak, his voice was shaky.  
  
"Joe . . . leave . . ." -- He pulled me into his arms, hugging me tightly. -- "What's happening to you . . ."  
  
"I . . . I don't know . . ."  
  
By this time I was sobbing. Pete led me to the side of the bed and had me sit down while he found me a large T-shirt to wear.  
  
"Put this on . . ." -- He handed it to me before sitting next to me on the bed. -- "H . . . how do you feel?"  
  
I could not look at him.  
  
"Strange . . ."  
  
"Yeah . . ." -- He bit into his bottom lip. -- "How are things . . . uhm . . .down there?"  
  
I blinked a few times, confused, before it hit me what he had asked. The color drained from my face.  
  
"I . . ." -- I swallowed and looked down at my lap. -- "I . . ."  
  
Pete was shaking as he slipped his hand between my legs.  
  
This whole situation seemed like a bad dream and I caught myself praying that was all it was. That I was still asleep in Pete's arms on the couch. Surely that is all this was . . . I could kind of see how my chest could swell. I could even think of things to make my body hair go away, but how the hell could my penis disappear? Yet I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach that assured me that I was wide awake and that all of this truly was happening to me.  
  
Pete cursed under his breath.  
  
"You have got to be kidding me!" he yelled suddenly, pinning me to the mattress by my shoulders and shaking me. "What the fuck have you done?" -- Tears rolled down his cheeks and splattered like raindrops onto my glasses. -- "Patrick! Oh god baby . . ."  
  
He could no longer hold himself up and he fell on top of me, crying against my shoulder.  
  
I had no words left in me and we lay there crying together, holding one another until Andy slowly opened the door.  
  
Joe must have already told him the news because he was not the least bit shocked or surprised when he sat on the bed and took my hand.  
  
He sighed.  
  
"How are you?" -- He chewed on his lip piercing. -- "Aside from the physical differences?"  
  
Pete answered him before I even realized Andy had finished talking.  
  
"He's a fucking chick! How do you think he is?" -- He sat up as if to challenge Andy. -- "How the hell would you be if you one day discovered that your penis had gone on vacation and left a fucking pussy in its place?"  
  
"Pete . . . we have to stay calm about this . . ."  
  
Pete cut him off.  
  
"Calm? Calm! You want me to be calm? What the fu . . ."  
  
I jumped and sat straight up when the palm of Andy's hand came in contact with the side of Pete's face.  
  
Pete was also shocked by Andy's actions. His hand went up to his cheek, his jaw open, eyes wide, but at least he was no longer screaming.  
  
Andy remained calm -- as if everything really was just a dream -- and I might have breathed a sigh of relief if the pain in my 'breasts' and the red hand mark on Pete's face had not dashed my hopes.  
  
Andy pulled at my hair and touched my face where my sideburns had been.  
  
"The first thing I did when Joe came into the living room babbling on about how you had tits, was call Mrs. Agnus, the only one of my grandmother's friends left alive, and explained our situation to her." -- He glanced at Pete. -- "If the Witch Hazel did in fact cause this, which I am positive it did, then as soon as Patrick's body heals itself, he'll return to normal."  
  
I put my arms around Pete and laid my head against his chest, listening to every word Andy said. I wanted so much to believe he was right and that this was only to be temporary, that I would soon be me again.  
"Witch Hazel did this?" Pete asked as he took my hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's never done this to me . . ."  
  
"Witch Hazel makes the inner self and outer self one." -- Andy's eyes locked with mine for a moment. -- "Patrick was in a very . . . uhm . . . needy . . . mood at the time you used the Witch Hazel on him . . . Then there is a very good chance he thought of himself as a girl . . ."  
  
"Or that he simply plays a girl's role." Joe said causing the three of us to look up. I had not even noticed him there. "He is gay after all, and no offense, the girl in the relationship, if you can really call it that."  
  
Andy sighed.  
  
"It does make sense, Pete . . ." I whispered, tightening my arms around him.  
  
I did not even care if it made Joe uncomfortable. I needed Pete then.  
  
"I . . . It will go back to normal once the cut on his face heals completely?" Pete questioned, his voice soft as if he was trying his hardest not to start crying again.  
  
"Once his body heals, yes." -- Andy chuckled. -- "Until then I suggest you should make the most of things, Patrick. Some men spend their whole lives saving up money for countless, irreversible operations in order to, at least, appear to be female . . . You've been given a free shot at womanhood for about two weeks. Live it up. Go dress shopping, get your hair done. Hell, make love to Pete the old fashioned way. I know I would if I were you . . . Have fun with it."  
  
"Good thing our concert was canceled this weekend," Joe added.  
  
"Yeah." -- Andy shrugged. -- "No need to worry. Right?"  
  
"I . . . I still don't believe this really happened all because of an over the counter antiseptic . . ."  
  
"Well, Pete, you better believe it, because it's the only explanation we have," Andy said, trying to comfort Pete, but his words just made me cringe.  
  
"That's not very reassuring . . ." I muttered.  
  
"Well if you don't turn back, we won't need the band. We can make millions off of having the first man to become a woman over night without surgery." -- Andy patted me on the back. -- "Mrs. Agnus has never been wrong before . . . all we can do now is trust that she is right."  
  
I locked eyes with Pete and swallowed. If what Andy was saying was true, and I hoped it was, then the next two weeks were going to be the longest weeks of my entire life.


	3. So This is The Proper Way?

Time was no longer a factor. Pete kept the curtains drawn and the lights off, and we only left the bedroom when nature forced us.  
  
I was vaguely aware of Joe and Andy's presence in the house. Every so often, one of them would stick their head in the door, creating a line of light to temporally interrupt the darkness while they attempted to convince Pete and I to leave our bed, or to at least eat the food they brought. They were rarely successful.  
  
We slept, holding onto one another, only to burst into tears every time we woke and discovered that my sudden change of sex was not just another bad dream.  
  
After what might have been a couple of days, the combination of sleep and tears began to make me nauseous.  
  
I slowly made my way out of the bed, careful not to disturb Pete and picked my glasses up off the night stand.  
  
The bathroom tiles felt like ice beneath my bare feet, but surprisingly it felt better than laying next to Pete in bed.  
  
I started the shower and began undressing, not letting my self look in the mirror until I was standing before it completely naked.  
  
The image before me took my breath away.  
  
My hair fell to my shoulders thicker than it had ever been before and my face was smooth and completely free of stubble.  
  
Gently I cupped my breasts in my hands and felt their size and weight. They had grown considerably in the last couple of days and – thankfully – were no longer sore to the touch.  
  
Then I allowed one of my hands to slide down my stomach and between my legs.  
  
This was the part that baffled me the most.  
  
When I was a teenager growing up in the suburbs of Chicagoland, girls were never really interested in me. I was the quiet kid in the front of the class who craved only the teachers’ attention and wanted nothing more than to be back at home in the safety of my bedroom with my guitar and drum set to keep me company.  
  
I remember being vaguely curious about the opposite sex – which teenage boy is not – but never as much as the other boys my age were, and defiantly never enough to pursue my own sexual encounters.  
  
Then the band was formed and I did not have time for girls.  
Next thing I know, I am what modern society has labeled as ‘gay’ and in a relationship with Pete. Who really needs girls after that?  
  
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that the first real life vagina I would ever see would be my own.  
  
I carefully parted the hidden lips between my legs and used my fingers to try and see what my eyes could not.  
  
The steam from the shower had already started to blur my reflection when I stepped into the shower and under the curtain of hot water.  
  
For a while I just stood there, and watched the water droplets slide down my new curves. I could not help but wonder: If I still had my male counterparts, would I be turned on by this?  
  
I began to wash, but had not been in the shower long when there was a soft knock on the bathroom door.  
  
"Patrick?"  
  
"Y . . . yeah?" I hesitantly replied. My voice sounded foreign to my ears.  
  
"It's me, Pete. I . . . Can . . . Can I come in?"  
  
"I'm already in the shower. The door is open."  
  
I chewed nervously onto my bottom lip. The thought of being naked in front of Pete unnerved me for the first time in over a year.  
  
Would he still consider me beautiful?  
  
The closing of the door caught my attention. Pete was now in the bathroom with me, standing just on the other side of the thin shower curtain.  
  
"I . . . I wanted to . . . I guess apologies for the way I have handled this situation . . ." Pete said after a few moments of silence. "I just don't understand what is going on. I'm scared. I love you, Patrick. I still do. I'm just confused. I don't know how this is going to affect us."  
  
Tears once again filled my eyes as I turned off the water.  
  
"I love you too, Pete . . ." – I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand. – "I didn't know if you would still care about me now . . . like you did before . . ."  
  
There was a stillness between the two of us while I dried off behind the shower curtain.  
  
"C . . . Can I see you?" Pete whispered.  
  
His words hung in the air between us, echoing over and over again inside my head.  
  
'This is it,' I thought. 'He either loves me no matter what . . . or he walks away forever when he sees me . . .'  
  
I took a deep breath and pushed the curtain aside.  
  
Pete's eyes locked with mine for a moment before he slowly looked over my new body. His breath caught in his throat as he took the towel from my hands.  
  
He pressed his lips to my forehead and wrapped the towel around my shoulders.  
  
"Don't tremble, love." – He laced his hand on my chest. – "You're still my Patrick inside here. I love you for that."  
  
"Pete . . ." – I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to keep myself from breaking down and giving way to another wave of tears. – "I love you . . . Thank you . . ."  
  
He pushed a clump of my wet hair out of my eyes and kissed me.  
  
It was just like the very first time we ever kissed. Pete's taste was overwhelming and sent electric-like charges surging through my body.  
  
I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. The water that remained in my hair and on my skin left damp spots on his shirt.  
  
The towel fell to the floor forgotten.  
  
Pete led me to the bed as I undressed him. His hands ran down my sides, squeezed my breasts, slipped between my thighs.  
  
I met every one of his kisses with equal passion, yet the entire situation seemed unreal. I felt his touch and tasted his kisses, but that was as far as the sexual excitement went.  
  
One of the differences between Pete and I had always been sexuality. Even though girls had never been a turn on for me, Pete was enthralled by them. All it took was for a pretty girl to blow him a simple kiss and the rest of the guys and I would be stuck listening to him gush about it.  
  
Another difference between us was that Pete had sexual experience with women, lots of sexual experience with women.  
  
Before we became a couple, it had not been unusual for Pete to stay out all night, only to sneak back into the house we had all shared at four, five, six in the morning. Sometimes he did not come home at all and it would be several days before he finally showed back up wearing the exact same clothes he had been wearing when he left.  
  
None of us ever questioned him, but gossip spreads quickly from ones mouth to another's ear when you live in Wilmette, Illinois.  
  
If the rumors were true, and we all knew they were, then why was my body not reacting to Pete's touch the way I had always been told girls reacted during sex? Could it be that all the guys who bragged were mistaken?  
  
Pete was still as affectionate as he always was with me. He played with my hair, looked me in the eyes, and whispered sweet nothings into my ear.  
  
After he had explored my body with his hands and lips, he pulled back and studied me for a moment.  
  
"How far do you want this to go, Patrick?" Pete whispered.  
  
I swallowed and buried my face into the crook of his neck.  
  
"As far as it can . . ."  
  
Maybe then, if he was inside of me, things would be different. Maybe it was the actual act of intercourse that caused the girls on television to moan and shudder the way they did.  
  
Pete wrapped his arms around me.  
  
"It might hurt, hun . . ."  
  
I shrugged.  
  
"It can't possibly hurt as much as it did the first time we had sex."  
  
He shook his head and laughed silently.  
  
"No, not like that," he said. "Are you sure you are okay with us doing this? You are comfortable with it?"  
  
I looked him in the eye.  
  
"You never have to ask for permission with me, Pete." – I kissed him gently. – "I love you."  
  
"I love you too."  
  
He pulled me closer and rolled on top of me. His fingers spreading the flesh between my legs as he positioned himself.  
  
His eyes searched mine for permission one last time, and as soon as I nodded, he pushed into me.  
  
I gasped as my body adjusted to the new sensation, and Pete pressed his lips to mine.  
  
Pete kissed me vigorously as he slowly quickened his pace inside of me and I could not help but wonder how long it had been since he had been with a woman this way.  
  
A shudder coursed through me and I wrapped my legs around Pete.  
  
What had began as a small pleasure began to grow inside of me with Pete's every move, but as soon as it reached the point in which I did not think I could take it much longer, it simply went away.  
  
This confused me greatly, but I had no time to ponder the matter.  
  
Pete was now trembling and had to bite into his bottom lip to prevent himself from calling out.  
  
I knew he was on the verge of orgasm, and as he came inside of me I did something else for the first time in my life. I gathered together all of my acting abilities and did something I despised. I faked it.


	4. The Effects of Breast-Talk at Breakfast

"Hey!" -- Andy jumped to his feet when I entered the kitchen. -- "Patrick! It's about time. Man, you had us all worried, you and Pete both, but I knew you would leave that crypt of a bedroom sooner or later."  
  
I took a seat at the kitchen table and absently watched Andy as he scurried around the kitchen searching for food.  
  
"How long has it been?"  
  
"About a week." - He stuck his head out of the pantry door. -- "You must be starving. Since you and Pete have been MIA and Joe has a pathetic definition of what food is, that left me to do the grocery shopping. So . . . what do you want?"  
  
"No thanks . . ." I muttered. "Just the thought of eating makes my stomach churn."  
  
He took a seat next to me and set a glass of soy milk in front of me.  
  
"That's cool. It has been a while since you've ate regularly. It will take some time for your stomach to get used to having food in it again."  
  
"Yeah . . . probably . . ."  
  
"Where's Pete?"  
  
"Shower."  
  
"Ah . . ."  
  
I swirled the milk in the glass.  
  
"Why are you here, Andy?"  
  
"Joe and I are taking turns . . ."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Andy laughed and ruffled my hair.  
  
"Why do you think, 'Trick?" -- He reached out and placed his hand under my chin and turned my face so he could see the cut across my cheek. -- "It's scabbed over already and healing. Does it still hurt any?"  
  
I shrugged.  
  
"Haven't really thought much about it to be honest . . ." -- I stared absently into my milk. -- "I mean . . . I know that if I hadn't of been cut, I'd still be me now . . . but it just seems like the least of my current problems."  
  
"Well look at it this way, that cut should be healed after another week and everything can go back to normal."  
  
"Yeah . . ."  
  
I crossed my arms beneath my breasts and pressed upwards. I was miserable, not only because of how I looked, but how I felt. My breasts were heavy, my lower back was killing me, and tight clothing pressing against my stomach made me feel nauseous.  
  
Andy watched me thoughtfully for a moment.  
  
"Maybe we should take you shopping."  
  
"Shopping? Doesn't that require me going in public?"  
  
He laughed.  
  
"Usually, yes."  
  
"I don't want to go anywhere . . ."  
  
"Suit yourself, but some new additions to your wardrobe might make you feel better."  
  
"How?"  
  
"Well . . ." -- Andy motioned to his own chest. -- "So you don't have to hold them up yourself."  
  
My eyes went wide.  
  
"You're talking about . . . you want me to wear a bra . . ."  
  
"Pete might find it sexy."  
  
"Screw what Pete finds sexy . . ."  
  
"Well . . . Pete might also demand it."  
  
"I might demand what?" Pete asked as he came into the kitchen, his hair still wet from his shower.  
  
I blushed and once again stared intently into my milk.  
  
"We're talking about Patrick's boobs," Andy said as calmly as one might discuss the weather.  
  
Pete pulled up a chair next to mine and grinned.  
  
"The are nice, aren't they?"  
  
"Well they are not nice to have!" -- I crossed my arms tighter over my chest in an attempt to hide them. -- "God, can't you just stop talking about it!"  
  
I could feel tears in my eyes again. Why does every little thing make me cry now?  
  
Arms wrapped around me and a moment later I found myself crying into Pete's chest. He gently ran his hand up and down my back.  
  
"Shhh . . . I'm sorry, babe," he whispered. "I didn't mean anything by it."  
  
"Yeah, Pete's right, Patrick. We didn't mean to upset you."  
  
I stopped crying, but did not respond to either of them.  
  
After a moment of silence, Andy and Pete began quietly conversing with one another about different matters. None of these matters concerned me and I was able to somewhat blend into the woodwork.  
  
During the course of their conversation, Pete's chair found its way directly beside mine, so the side of mine touched the side of his and I could easily lay my head to rest on his shoulder, his arm around my shoulders.  
  
I could not help but smile when I realized that, even though my body had changed so drastically in the past few days, Pete and I still fit together perfectly. We still completed one another.  
  
It reminded me of a mythological story that I had briefly studied in high school. According to Plato’s _Symposium_ , at one point in ancient history humans were spherical and composed of two different people who were fused together, with two heads, four arms, and four legs.  
  
These beings were immortal and because they had two minds instead of one, they were able to discover all of the secrets of the universe and soon considered themselves equal to the gods.  
  
But their arrogance angered the gods, and in order to reduce their strength, the gods split each of the spherical beings into two separate halves and scattered the halves around the world.  
  
Separated from their other half, the beings were now susceptible to disease and death.  
  
The creatures frantically began to search for their original partners, but most of them died alone.  
  
When the gods noticed that the human population was slowly dying out, they granted the humans the ability to reproduce with other beings besides their true other half. But since these new offspring were of mixed parentage, they were born into the world searching for the offspring born of their mother's other half.  
  
True happiness could only exist when the two halves that belonged together found one another.  
  
I smiled to myself and closed my eyes, my hand finding Pete's under the table.  
  
Maybe the myth did hold some truth. Maybe Pete and I fit together so well because we were meant to be together. We needed each other in order to be whole.  
  
Pete took a sip from my untouched glass of milk and began drawing circles on the palm of my hand with his thumb nail.  
  
"I called and postponed all of our shows for the next month as a precaution, since we do not know exactly when things are going to go back to normal," Andy stated, earning both Pete's and my full attention.  
  
"How did that go over?" Pete asked.  
  
Andy frowned.  
  
"They asked if we were breaking up."  
  
"No!" -- I sat up and slammed my fist onto the tabletop. -- "That is one rumor we can’t let get out!"  
  
Pete took my hands in his own and rubbed them together.  
  
"We're not ending the band, Patrick," he said, his voice serious. "We just need this break in order to fix things. If they want to believe we are over, let them. If people think we are gone just think of the reaction we will get when we come back and prove them all wrong."  
  
"If anyone cares . . ." -- Andy paused until we looked up at him. -- "The reason I gave for our absence was that Patrick fell down the stairs of his house, broke his leg, and has to stay at home, in bed, until it heals. That way we do not have to account for his disappearance for a while."  
  
Pete nodded and looked at me.  
  
"I like that. What do you think?"  
  
"My house doesn't have stairs . . ."  
  
"Well . . . true, but Pete's does."  
  
"Yeah . . . Pete's house has stairs, but mine doesn’t” -- I looked from Andy to Pete. -- "Fans are going to wonder why my home has stairs . . ."  
  
He looked confused.  
  
"I don't think fans pay that much attention, 'Trick. I mean, surely they have more important things to do than go around counting who many floors our houses have," Andy said and laughed.  
  
"I think you'd be surpri . . ."  
  
"He guys," Joe said, interrupting us as he came into the kitchen. "How is . . ." -- His eyes scanned the room and grew twice their normal size when he saw me. -- "Patrick?!"  
  
He immediately diverted his eyes to the ground.  
  
"You can look at me, Joe." -- I could not help but smile. -- "Hopefully just looking at me isn't enough to cause you to go blind."  
  
"Well . . . I . . ." -- Joe looked up at me only to once again look away. -- "Jesus, Patrick. Have you looked at you?"  
  
I narrowed my eyes at him.  
  
"I mean . . . I knew you were a chick . . . but I . . wasn't expecting you to be that much of one . . ."  
  
Pete stopped laughing and studied Joe closely before looking me over.  
  
"You know what . . . I changed my mind, Patrick," he said as he stood up. "I am going to make you go shopping."  
  
He took my hand and glared at Joe as he lead me out of the room.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself dressed in the few articles of my clothing that still fit and sitting in the passenger seat of Pete's car.  
  
The sunlight reflected off the right side mirror and into my eyes and the temperature outside was only a few degrees above freezing.  
  
"Pete . . ." -- I looked over at him. -- "Why do we have to do this?"  
  
He glanced in my direction before placing his eyes back on the road.  
  
"Because I don't like the way Joe was acting around you."  
  
"So dressing me up is going to make Joe more comfortable around me?" I scoffed. "Not likely."  
"Were you really that oblivious to what happened in the kitchen then?" Pete said, once again taking his eyes off the road to look at me. "I don't like the way Joe was affected by you, hun."  
  
"What?"  
  
Pete turned his blinker on and changed lanes before he answered me.  
  
"He was . . ." -- He took in a deep breath and chewed on his bottom lip. -- "Well . . . you were sitting in the kitchen wearing nothing but a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers . . . and well . . . Joe . . . he is a guy . . . and well . . ." -- He looked at me and grinned. -- "You have nipples now, love."  
  
I could not help but choke on my own spit when he said that.  
  
"Y . . . you mean that . . . Joe was . . turned on by me? But I . . . he's straight . . . isn't he? I . . . I'm a guy!"  
  
Pete laughed.  
  
"You don't look like any guy I've ever seen before, babe."  
  
I did not say anything else for the rest of the drive to the mall.  
  
Pete turned on the radio, but turned it off when they started playing 'Sugar We're Going Down.'  
  
"I'm so sick of that song. It's so mainstream," he said trying to get me to laugh, but I only shrugged and looked up at the sky.  
  
A few clouds had gathered and it looked as if it might begin to snow again before the day was over.  
  
When we arrived at the mall, I pulled my hat down as far as I could in an attempt to disappear. Pete took my hand and squeezed it gently before leading me inside.  
  
"First thing you need is bras and . . ." -- He looked me over and raised an eyebrow suggestively. -- ". . . lingerie . . . perhaps?"  
  
I rolled my eyes at him.  
  
"Don't hold your breath. You're lucky you even got me out of the house."  
  
"Fine only bras then . . ." he muttered under his breath as he dragged me into a frilly store full of girls undergarments.  
  
I did not even know the names for most of the -- so called -- clothing articles I saw.  
  
"So . . ." -- Pete stared at my chest for a moment. -- "Any idea what size they are?"  
  
"Uhm . . . no . . ."  
  
About that time one of the store employees approached us.  
  
"Good afternoon. My name’s Alicia. Can I help you with something today?" She asked overly cheerful.  
  
I winced at the sound of her voice.  
  
"Yeah! Actually, Alicia, we need tons of help! You might find this hard to believe, but my friend here has never bought a bra before and has no idea what size h . . . she wears."  
  
Her eyes went wide for a moment as she turned to look at me.  
  
"You've never bought one before?"  
  
"Well . . . they were usually . . . given to me?" I said, hoping she would drop the matter.  
  
"Don't worry. I can help you, but if you don't know what size, I'm going to have to measure you," -- She unwound a cloth measuring tape from around her neck. -- "Just come with me so we do not have to do this with everyone watching."  
  
I visibly paled and turned to Pete for help, but he simply pushed me towards Alicia.  
  
"Go on. I'll be waiting here for you," he called after me with a wide grin on his face.  
  
She lead me to a dressing room near the back of the store, and to my horror every wall of the small, closet-sized room was a mirror.  
  
"Now take your jacket off and any over shirt you might have on. You can leave your bottom layer on if it makes you more comfortable," Alicia said.  
  
I mentally sighed in relief. At least I would not have to be partially naked in front of this lady.  
  
Once I had removed all that I needed to, Alicia measured both under my breasts and across them.  
  
"Yeah . . . someone your size should probably wear a bra everyday." -- She rolled her measuring ape back up. -- "You can hurt your back if they aren’t supported, and they could end up sagging past your knees when you're old if you don't keep them up now."  
  
I gagged at that thought.  
  
"Yeah." -- She laughed. -- "Not very pleasant."  
  
"So . . . what size am I?"  
  
"You are right at a 36C."  
  
"Shit . . ." I said under my breath.  
  
"It's not that bad. Most girls want them around that size. Now come on. Your boy friend is waiting."  
  
The next half hour was one I would very much like to forget. I had to have tried on at least 20 different bras before I had found four that Pete considered acceptable.  
  
Pete thanked Alicia, tipped her even though she claimed he was not supposed to, and paid the cashier for the undergarments.  
  
When we were on our way to the next store we caught the attention of a girl who had been looking at jewelry through a store window.  
  
"I know who you are!" she exclaimed loudly as she stepped in front of Pete and I.  
  
A sense of dread rushed over me. What was I going to say to her. How could I even begin to explain this?  
  
I opened my mouth, but before I could form words she rushed forward, shoved me out of the way, and threw her arms around Pete's neck.  
  
"You're Pete Wentz! I completely adore you!" -- She kissed him on the cheek. -- "To bad Patrick and the other guys aren't with you. I would have loved to meet them as well."  
  
Then she disappeared as fast as she had appeared, leaving me utterly horrified.  
  
She had not had the slightest clue who I was!


	5. The Difference Between Blue Lines and Pink Crosses

It had been over two weeks since I had become a girl. But instead of getting better, I was worse. The cut on my face had completely healed, yet I was still female. If that was not bad enough on its own, I was also starting to get sick.  
  
I would awake in the morning nauseous and the near mention of food usually resulted in dry heaves. The worst only lasted a couple of hours and by lunch, I would be fine and capable of eating again.  
  
Pete remained calm and supportive. He would hold my hair back as I threw up and was always by my side making sure I had everything I needed.  
  
"It's just all those stupid girl hormones fucking with you, hun," he would say as he helped me back to bed. "Everything will work out soon enough. This isn't permanent. This can't be permanent."  
  
I would just nod and close my eyes until the feelings passed.  
  
Andy still believed my eating patterns were the cause of my illness and showed up regularly to make sure I was eating as much as I could, when I could.  
  
Joe rarely came around.  
  
That morning was no exception.  
  
Pete lay in bed next to me and ran his fingers through my hair.  
  
"Maybe you should try to eat a cracker or something," he whispered.  
  
"No . . ." I mumbled into the pillow.  
  
He sighed and closed his eyes.  
  
"I love you."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I wish we could take you to a doctor." – He wrapped his arms tighter around me and kissed the top of my head. – "Maybe we should ask that lady Andy knows to take a look at you. Especially if this doesn't stop soon."  
  
"No."  
  
Pete sighed again and untangled himself from me.  
  
"I'm going to take a shower." – He looked me over and shook his head. – "I'll leave the door open in case you get sick again."  
  
I fixed my eyes on the ceiling.  
  
"I've got nothing left in me to throw up, Petah."  
  
He left without responding.  
  
I knew I had upset him, but there was nothing I could do about it. Just moving made me queasy. There was no way I could have explained in detail what he wanted to hear.  
  
With everyday that passed my depression deepened and my hope of things going back to normal crumbled a little more.  
  
Andy was still concrete in his belief that this was not permanent, but I was scared.  
  
What if I never changed back?  
  
After a few minutes I forced myself to sit up.  
  
The sound of the shower running could be heard coming from the bathroom, but the water sounded too still. I knew Pete was not in the bathroom to bathe.  
  
He was in there to think.  
  
I could see him in my mind, sitting on the sink counter with his knees drawn to his chest. By now, the heat from the running shower would have already caused a sheet of steam to be cast over the mirror and a few of Pete's thoughts would be traced into the fog.  
  
Slowly I slipped out of bed and made my way, barefoot, to the bathroom.  
  
The door was shut, but Pete was true to his word and the knob turned easily.  
  
Pete's actions were not far off from the picture my imagination had painted in my mind moments before.  
  
He looked up as the door opened and wiped a few words off the glass before I could read what they had said, but part of my name remained intact.  
  
"You sick?"  
  
I shock my head.  
  
"No . . . I just wanted to be with you."  
  
Pete smiled and held his arm out to me.  
  
"You know me too well, 'Trick," he said as I climbed onto the counter next to him. "I'm sorry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
He shrugged, but did not answer.  
  
"You didn't do anything, Pete. Nothing wrong, at least."  
  
He pulled me closer and pressed his lips to mine.  
  
"We're gonna be all right hun," – Pete's arms wrapped around me and I lay my head on his shoulder. – "You and me, we are going to be just fine."  
  
I nodded and closed my eyes for a moment.  
  
"Pete?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
"I know."  
  
We both laughed.  
  
"By the way, Joe called earlier," Pete said a few seconds later.  
  
I looked up at him.  
  
"Oh . . . what did he want?"  
  
"Turns out the press has finally started wondering about our absencs from the stage and we've been asked to make a statement."  
  
"When?"  
  
"Three o'clock this afternoon."  
  
"Oh . . ." – I pulled away from Pete and sat up straight. – "What are you going to tell them?"  
  
Pete shrugged.  
  
"We have no choice but to stick with the story Andy came up with earlier. You have a broken leg and can't leave the house . . ."  
  
"They won't buy that forever . . ."  
  
He flinched slightly.  
  
"The aren't going to have to buy that forever."  
  
"Yeah . . ."  
  
I slid off the counter and turned off the – now cold – shower.  
  
"I'm feeling a little brave now. Do you want to attempt eating?"  
  
He laughed.  
  
"All right, come on and I'll make you a bowl of my world renowned Fruit Loops."  
  
Pete rested his arms on my shoulders and leaned his forehead against mine.  
  
I smiled and looked away.  
  
"Yeah . . . let's get a bowl of those Fruit Loops."  
  
A few hours later Pete was once again in the bathroom, only this time he really was getting ready.  
  
In fact, he was running late.  
  
Andy was supposed to arrive in ten minutes to pick him up and Pete still stood, shirtless, before the bathroom mirror fretting with his eyeliner.  
  
I leaned against the door frame and watched him.  
  
"You look fine, Pete."  
  
"Says you . . ."  
  
"What? Doesn't my opinion matter to you?"  
  
He sat the eyeliner pencil down on the counter and smiled at me.  
  
"No, your opinion means everything to me, but in this matter it does not count."  
  
"Why's that?"  
"Because you're in love with me.” – He picked his shirt up and pulled it on over his head. – "And if it works the same for you as it does me, you will think I'm beautiful no matter what, because you love me."  
  
I smiled and closed my eyes for a moment longer than the length of a normal blink.  
  
Pete wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my throat, nipping gently at my skin.  
  
"I love you," I whispered.  
  
"I love you, too, babe."  
  
"Do we say that too much?"  
  
"Nah.” – He grinned. – "It's not possible to say that too much."  
  
"Hey! Lovebirds! Hate to interrupt, but we're running late!" Andy's voice interrupted our moment.  
  
Pete jumped.  
  
"Jesus, Hurley. How the hell do you know we weren't . . . like naked or something?" Pete exclaimed and checked his reflection for one last time.  
  
Andy stood in Pete's bedroom right outside the bathroom door.  
  
"I decided to risk it for the sake of being on time.” – He sat on our bed and lay back, his feet still flat on the floor. – "Besides I figured you two were smart enough not to have sex until 'Trick is back to 'him'self."  
  
Pete narrowed his eyes and studied Andy for a second.  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Well . . . for one, I highly doubt he's on birth control." – Andy laughed. – "And it could slow down the healing process. He's not going to change back until his body heals. Tears, claw marks, anything of that nature could lengthen how long he stays . . ." – He nodded in my direction. – "That way."  
  
"So you're saying we have to treat him like a glass doll?" Pete asked and placed his hands on my lower back.  
  
"You guys haven't had sex have you?" Andy sat up and looked from me to Pete.  
  
"No," Pete responded, his voice serious. "Of course not."  
"Then nothing to worry about." – He stood up and stretched. – "Now Peter Panda, tell your little baby doll goodbye, because if we don't leave soon we are going to be a little more than fashionably late."  
  
Pete turned to me with his back to Andy.  
  
"We'll talk when I get back," he whispered into my ear when he hugged me.  
  
I nodded and bid Andy goodbye.  
  
Then they left, leaving me confused and all alone.  
  
At first I tried to take a nap, but the pillows all smelled like Pete and I could not take my mind off what Andy had mentioned.  
  
I touched my shoulder under my shirt.  
  
Had Pete's nails marked me?  
  
Surely I would have noticed, but that would explain why I had not changed back even though the cut on my face had healed.  
  
After a half an hour I gave up on sleep and went into the kitchen.  
  
I opened the fridge and frowned at how empty it appeared. Even though I was not hungry, I wanted to eat.  
  
Finally, after both searching the kitchen for food and the living room for the remote, I settled down on the couch with a bag of stale sugar cookies and a jar of vanilla cake icing.  
  
The only things on television were ancient episodes of Match Game PM on Game Show Network, and crappy rap videos on MTV2. I picked the lesser of the two evils and snuggled up under the couch blanket to watch an extremely young Dolly Parton and the guy who played Radar on M.A.S.H. play fill in the blank.  
  
After two and a half episodes though, I grew bored of television.  
  
"When the hell is Pete going to get home?" I asked the empty house.  
  
No response.  
  
I had not thought of asking him before he left. My mind had been preoccupied with the fact that a love bite or a simple scratch could add time to my already excruciating sentence.  
  
The couch cushions were soft, and it was warm under the blanket. I could not help but close my eyes and I was soon asleep, lost in a world where none of my current worries and problems existed.  
  
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Andy!" – Pete's voice broke the haze of sleep. – "You seriously want him to take a fucking pregnancy test?!"  
  
My eyes opened wide as I was suddenly jerked back into reality.  
  
"What the fuck?!" I screamed, looking horror stricken at Andy and Pete who had entered the living room moments before.  
  
Pete sighed and threw himself onto the recliner.  
  
"You tell him, Andy . . ." he muttered, his fingers pressed to his temples.  
  
"What the hell is going on, Andy." – I sat up and pulled the blanket around myself. – "There is no fucking way that I am pregnant."  
  
"Oh yeah?" he responded as he tossed a drugstore bag at me. "And there is no way you have breasts and a vagina and that you fucked Pete either."  
  
I wanted to cry.  
  
"I am a guy! I cannot get pregnant!"  
  
"You look like a girl to me." – Andy sat next to me and ran his hands through his hair. – "Look, Stumpy. I'm not saying you are, just that it might explain the morning sickness and why you haven't changed back yet."  
  
Pete's arms went around me as he pulled me to him. I had not even noticed him moving to the couch, but he had and I once again found myself crying against his chest.  
  
He held me tightly and did not say a word. Almost as if he knew that even the slightest change in his state of composure would send him to tears as well.  
  
"Patrick?" – I felt the couch cushions shift as Andy stood up. – "You need to take that test. The instructions are inside. Hell, I'd help you, but I have no idea how those things work. It was hard enough for me to figure out which one to buy earlier."  
  
I looked up at him and pushed my hair out of my wet eyes.  
  
"And, like you said. You are technically a guy. You might not even be able to get pregnant, but if you are then there are some major decisions that need to be made. But either way we need to know if you are or aren't."  
  
Pete tightened his grip on me.  
  
"Yeah . . ." Pete said and I could tell by his voice that he was trying to lighten the mood, even though he knew that his attempts were useless. "Let's take this test, then . . . if not for anything else but to prove Andy wrong. Okay?"  
  
I nodded and sat up.  
  
"All right . . . how does it work?"  
  
"Well . . . I . . ." – Pete laughed. – "To be honest with you, 'Trick, I have no earthly idea."  
  
Not long after, Pete and I found ourselves in his bathroom, the contents of the pregnancy test box spread across the bathroom counter.  
  
"Now what?" I asked as I pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes.  
  
Pete shrugged.  
  
"I get to be instructions man?"  
  
"Yeah . . . since Andy thinks you knocked me up." – I laughed and handed him the instruction sheet. – "Read away."  
  
He studied the paper for a moment.  
  
"Okay . . . first remove the test stick from the foil package and take the cap off."  
  
"Okay, then?"  
  
"Hold the test stick by thumb grip. Point absorbent tip downward in urine stream and hold for 5 seconds."  
  
"I have to pee on it?"  
  
He laughed.  
  
"Yeah, that's what it says."  
  
I set the testing strip on the counter and pulled Pete to me by his waist.  
  
"I don't want to do this."  
  
I know, babe." – He kissed my forehead. – "I know."  
  
"Can you turn around so I can do this?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes and the laughed slightly at me.  
  
"Patrick, love of my life? Does it really matter if I see you pee? I mean, I've sucked you off and eaten you out and . . ." – He stopped talking and burst into laughter. – "That is SO wrong!"  
  
"It's not funny, Pete!" I practically screamed.  
  
"Fine . . . I'll leave . . . and . . . leave you to it . . ." – He set the instructions down on the counter and smiled wearily at me. – "Um . . . good luck?"  
  
"Yeah . . . I'm going to need it," I whispered as he left the bathroom and shut the door behind him.  
  
I followed the rest of the instructions and then left the bathroom.  
  
Pete was sitting on the bed.  
  
"And?"  
  
I shrugged.  
  
"We have to wait a couple of minutes."  
  
"Oh . . ."  
  
"Yeah . . ." – I looked over at the clock on the night stand. – "You think it's been a couple of minutes since I peed on it? I mean . . . that was a little while before I left the bathroom."  
  
"Might be close . . ."  
  
I took in a deep breath.  
  
"I'm scared."  
  
"Oh come on, you know Andy is more than likely out of his mind on this one." – He stood up. – "Here, I'll go check. All right?"  
  
I sighed and lay down on the bed.  
  
"Okay . . ."  
  
Pete smoothed my hair and kissed me gently.  
  
"What means yes and what means no?"  
  
"Um . . . a pink cross means I am, and two blue lines mean I am not."  
  
He smiled and squeezed my hand.  
  
"I'll be right back, hun."  
  
I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around myself. Everything was going to be fine. I just had to keep telling myself that.  
  
A minute later Pete came back into the room. He had the testing strip in his hand and was visibly shaking.  
  
I sat up and looked at him, waiting on him to speak.  
  
"P . . . Patrick . . . it's pink . . ."


	6. A Chaser for China White

"P . . . Patrick . . . it's pink . . ."

It took a moment for those words to fully sink in.

"I . . ."--I swallowed and looked up at Pete.--"I'm pregnant."

"Yeah . . ."

He sat down on the bed next to me, the pregnancy test still in his hand. We were both too shocked for words.

Pregnant. I felt as if I were trapped in some sort of sick game between the devil and a God in whom I did not believe in, a game in which the two of them took turns fucking with my life like I was their modern day Job.

Every time I believed my life could not get any worse one of them had to fuck me up worse than before just to prove me wrong. Well if that is how it has to go, then I am sick of being a toy to whatever Gods are up there.

"You hear that Lord, Christ, Jesus! You mother fucking bastard! I'm not playing anymore!" I suddenly screamed at the ceiling and stood up, my fists clenched. "Game over! Find someone else to get your jollies off!"

Pete looked at me like I had lost my mind.

"I'm fucking tired of your shit! Find someone else to fuck over or I swear I'll burn every one of your mother fucking cathedrals to the fucking ground!" I screamed at the top of my lungs and punched toward the ceiling so hard I lost my balance and fell to the ground.

It took Pete a moment to get over my outburst and by the time he had climbed off the bed to console me I was already sobbing loudly.

"What's going on in here?" Andy asked from the doorway to the bedroom.

"What's fucking wrong?!" I screamed as I ripped the test strip from Pete's hand and threw it as hard as I could at Andy. "That's what is fucking wrong, you asshole!"

Andy dodged the small piece of plastic and addressed Pete instead.

"Pete, what's going on?"

"Wait!" I screamed before Pete could answer. "How the hell did you of all people know I was pregnant?"--I pushed Pete off of me and launched myself at Andy, tackling him in the hallway.--"You're playing their fucking archangel aren't you! A fucking messenger to let me know all of their fucked up plans!"

"What?!"

Andy's eyes went wide as my hands closed around his throat and I began to choke him, but Pete pulled me off of him before I could do real harm.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?!" Pete screamed at me as he shook me by my shoulders.

"It's not fucking funny anymore!" I cried.

"Patrick . . ." he said as tears weld up in his own eyes. "No one's laughing."

I looked from Pete to Andy who was still laying on the floor of the hallway rubbing his throat where I had tried to strangle him.

He just shook his head at me.

That was when it dawned on me. I could have seriously hurt Andy if Pete had not of pulled me off when he had.

"I can't think here . . ."--I looked back at Pete.--"I'm gonna just go home until I can clear my head . . ."

Pete's hand closed over my wrist.

"Patrick . . . please . . ."

I shook my head no and grabbed my backpack and keys off the floor of Pete's bedroom. I was not exactly sure what was inside of it, but my mind was already too full to give it much thought.

Pete followed me to the front door as if to stop me, but did not.

"Let him go . . ." I heard Andy say as the door shut behind me.

"Wow . . ." I said to myself as I climbed into my car and turned the key in the ignition.

After I backed out of the driveway, I turned the radio off and the heat on. The snow that had fallen last night had been pushed aside and created walls of white on either side of the road.

Nothing felt real.

When I reached the road that lead to my house I kept on driving. I drove all the way out of the neighborhood, not really paying attention to where I was going.

My mind was so full that I did not notice when my gas light came on and by the time I became fully aware of the car's low fuel level it was too late.

I cursed under my breath and steered the car into a vacant parking lot.

"Just my fucking luck!" I screamed as I slammed my fist into the steering wheel.

I was at least twenty miles from the subdivision where my house was located and from the looks of my surroundings I was not in a good part of town.

To make matters worse, my cell phone was still sitting on Pete's coffee table.

The outside chill had already begun to creep inside the car and I had no choice but to try to find a payphone within walking distance.

I shoved my backpack under the passenger seat and pulled up the hood of my sweatshirt.

The winter chill had to have been in the low teens and it stung my hands and face with every gust.

I spotted an Exxon down the street and started to walk in that direction. The gas station would be my best chance of finding a pay phone.

The sun had begun to set and steam rose thick from the gutters.

A group of guys were gathered in an alley not one hundred feet from my car. They stopped talking among themselves when I passed by and I noticed a few of them gesturing toward me.

"Hey a sweet thing," one of the men said loudly and another cat called.

I looked away from them and quickened my step, but I could hear them following behind me.

"Oh come on, baby."

"We mean no harm."

Now panicked, I began to run. If I could only make it to the gas station . . .

"Honest, we just want to talk to you."--One of the men stepped in front of me, blocking my escape.--"We won't hurt you, much."

I spun around in a frantic attempt to evade him, but one of the others grabbed me from behind and pinned me to the side of a nearby building.

"Gotcha."

He pressed his face close to mine. His breath was thick and smelled strongly of liquor.

I did not even realize I had been screaming until one of the other men closed his hand tightly over my mouth and nose.

No matter how hard I struggled, it was no use. There were too many of them and I was no where near strong enough to fight them.

The man's hand was soon replaced with a filthy gag.

Another reached into his jacket and pulled out a pinch of some sort of powder. He pushed it to my nose while holding his thumb to my other nostril, while one of the others prevented me from breathing through the gag in my mouth.

I tried to turn my head away from him, but failed. Someone punched me in the stomach and as I gasped, I felt myself breathe in the drug.

A knife cut my hoody up the front and dirty hands ripped the rest of it from my trembling body.

I struggled desperately and managed to make contact with my knee to one of my captors crotches. They once again slammed me hard against the wall. My head hit the brick wall and the world around me blurred.

Through my altered state of mind, I was vaguely aware of someone screaming, followed by gunshots. Then everything around me vanished and I fell to the ground, free of the hands that had held me. Everything went black.

When I came to, I was laying on the ground and an older man was by my side.

"Oh thank, God."--He pulled me into a sitting position.--"I thought they had killed you at first. I was driving by and saw what was happening. They ran off once they saw I had a gun, but I was scared I might have been too late."

He helped me to my feet and lead me to his car.

The ground beneath me was in motion, and I could barely force my limbs into movement.

"Where's home?"--I felt him help me into the car.--"Hun, where do you live?"

I did not know whether I gave him mine or Pete's address, but the car began moving and I once again lost conciseness.

I awoke when the car stopped outside of a strange house.

"Where am I?" I asked, my speech slurred.

"Shh . . . don't worry. I'm going to take care of you," the man said and killed the car's engine.

I suddenly did not trust him anymore. This man could be just like those other men. He could even be one of them.

I discovered the passenger side door was unlocked and before he could stop me I had run from the car. He screamed after me, but either I was faster or he did not bother chasing after me.

It had grown considerably colder outside, and now that I was lacking my sweatshirt the weather was reaching deadly.

I was shaking so badly from the cold that I could barely think and when I could no longer run I wrapped my arms around myself.

Lost and freezing, I continued making my way down the street before me.

After a while I noticed a familiar store.

Joe lived near here.

I turned down the next street and once again began to run. When made it to Joe's front porch, I fell against the door and cried out for him.

It seemed like it took an eternity before he finally answered the door. I was now feeling the effects of whatever drug they had given me full force.

"Oh fuck . . . Patrick?!" Joe screamed, uncertain at first if it really was me. "Oh shit . . . What the hell?!"

He pulled me inside and locked the door behind me.

"I . . they . . . Joe . . ."--I clung to him like a lost child.--"They tried to . . ."

"You're freezing . . ."--He quickly removed his shirt and wrapped it around me.--"You're barely even dressed . . . I'm calling Pete."

I grabbed for him when he went to leave.

"No! No . . ."--I was trembling.--"No Joe . . . don't leave me . . they . . . they'll get me . . . don't let them get me . . ."

Joe sighed and directed me to the couch. His arms wrapped around me as he tried to bring warmth back into my body.

"Do you realize it is twelve fucking degrees outside Patrick? You could have froze to death. Oh God, Patrick. What the hell happened? You're bleeding!"

I had not even noticed that I had been cut when they removed my clothes . . .

I may never know what possessed me to do what I did next. Maybe it was a result of the drugs running though my veins or an act of pure desperation or something else entirely.

I threw my arms around his neck, my breasts crushed against his chest, and kissed him, and for some strange reason Joe kissed back.

My hands ran over his bare chest and I pushed him onto his back.

His eyes went wide and he pushed me off of him.

"Patrick!" He said, shocked by my unusual behavior. "Pete . . . you . . . I . . . No!"

But I did not listen to him. I crushed my lips to his for a second time and when my hand found its way between his legs he stopped protesting all together and gave in to me completely.


	7. Guilt is the Worst Fever You Can't Sweat Out

The next morning I awoke alone, with one of the worst headaches I have ever experienced.  
  
I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow, but the pillow was not mine. It did not smell like Pete.  
  
"Huh?"--I opened my eyes and looked around the room.--"Shit . . ."  
  
Broken fragments of the previous night flooded my mind. I remembered Joe asking me over and over again what had happened. Worst of all I remembered pressing my lips to his and then him leading me to his bedroom.  
  
The room was cold and I wrapped my arms around myself as I sat up in the bed.  
  
"What have I done . . ." I whispered.  
  
That is when the morning sickness decided to hit me.  
  
I put my hand on my stomach for a moment and remembered what I had found out the night before. Had what those men done to me affected the microscopic life growing inside of me?  
  
Instead of being connected to his bedroom like Pete's, Joe's bathroom was down the hall and I found myself having to run in order to get there in time.  
  
A couple of minutes later my body discovered there was nothing left to throw up. I closed the toilet lid and lay my head on my arms. By experience I knew that if I tried to stand up, I would once again begin to dry heave.  
  
"Patrick? Are you all right?" Joe asked. I had not even noticed him standing in the doorway before he spoke.  
  
I slowly turned my head to look at him and wiped my mouth on the sleeve of the long sleeved T-shirt I was wearing. The shirt must have been one of Joe's.  
  
"No . . ." I said, my voice hoarse.  
  
He wet a wash cloth and pressed his hand to my forehead.  
  
"You don't have a fever, but it might be from nerves."--He flushed the toilet and placed the cloth in my hand.--"Do you feel any better after throwing up?"  
  
"No . . ."--I closed my eyes.--"It will pass. It happens every morning."  
  
"Oh . . . Do you know why?" He asked and brushed my hair out of my face with his fingers.  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Yes . . . although I wish I didn't . . ."  
  
He let the matter drop.  
  
"When you showed up last night, your clothes were ripped to shreds. You could have died, Patrick . . ."--Joe leaned against the wall and studied me for a moment.--"You want to tell me what happened?"  
  
I sat up and drew my knees to my chest.  
  
"I could ask you the same thing." I said as I locked eyes with Joe. "What happened last night, Joe?"  
  
"Patrick, I don't know. You just showed up on my doorstep, crying, scared to death, and bleeding. I . . ."  
  
"I know why I came here," I said softly and looked down at the bathroom tile. "D . . . did we sleep together?"  
  
"No," Joe said, his voice firm. "We did nothing sexual. You were delusional and you kissed me and then you passed out a few minutes later. You woke up enough when I brought you to my room to help me change you, and once I knew you were all right, I slept on the couch."  
  
"That's all?"  
  
It was as if a weight had been lifted from my chest and I could once breathe again.  
  
"Yeah. I'm straight, Patrick. You're one of my best friends. Even though you are not male for the time being, don’t mean that I'm going to take advantage of you like that. You don't have to worry about cheating on Pete or about me telling him. You were not in your right mind at the time and what did happen doesn't count."--  
  
He stood up and looked down at me.--"When you feel better, get cleaned up and find anything of mine that fits you. I'm going to call Pete and let him know you are all right. He's probably worried sick."  
  
I watched as he left the bathroom and then for a reason unknown to me, I started crying.  
  
Pete arrived at Joe's house in record time and I had never seen him so flustered in my entire life.  
  
He cupped my face in his hands, squeezed my upper arms, and rubbed my hands between his own several times each before he even managed to choke out his first sentence.  
  
He kept repeating how stupid he was for ever letting me out of his sight, for ever leaving my side.  
  
"It's not your fault, Petah," I told him as he pressed my hands to his lips.  
  
I spent the next half hour sitting in Joe's kitchen explaining everything that had happened to me before I found myself on Joe's front porch.  
  
By the time I finished, Pete was trembling. His fists were clenched.  
  
"I'm going to fucking kill them!" He screamed and slammed his fist down on the table.  
  
"No," Joe said. "We don't know who they are, Pete. We don't even know how many they are."  
  
"Then we have to report this to the police or something. Those ass-holes are still out there . . ."  
  
"And what the hell are you going to tell them!?"--Joe interrupted--"That your girlfriend, who used to be your boyfriend, was drugged and nearly raped? They are going to wonder why all her identification reads Patrick Stumph, Male. The fans will love us then. We don't want or need rumors about Patrick circulating on the net."  
  
"If anyone dares to spread rumors about Patrick we can stop them. He doesn't . . ."  
  
"Yeah, like we really need another Sidekick spill . . ."  
  
"Will you both shut up?!" I screamed at them. "We're not going to do anything. No one is going to the police and, I swear Pete, if you even think about going to look for those men, I'll kill you myself. You wouldn't stand a chance if you did find them and I'm not going to let you take that risk."--I turned to face Joe.--"but that gives you no right to yell at him. Even if you are right. You both need to fucking shut up!"  
  
Both fell silent after my outburst.  
  
I took Pete's hand under the table.  
  
"Just take me home, and then we can figure out who's going to get my car."  
  
Pete nodded and tightened his grip on my hand.  
  
"All right . . . I'll take you home," he said softly.  
  
"I'll go with you," Joe said. "You'll need a second driver when you go get his car."  
  
The ride back to Pete's house was made in complete silence.  
  
Andy's car was still parked in Pete's driveway.  
  
"Andy stayed all night?" I questioned before Pete and I went inside.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Yes, he did."  
  
"Where did he sleep?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could, but Pete picked up on what I had implied.  
  
"No!" He said quickly, his eyes wide. "How could you even think that, Patrick? Andy stayed last night because he didn't want to leave me alone waiting for you to come home to me."  
  
I felt sick to my stomach. How could I have accused Pete of anything after what I had done with Joe the night before?  
  
Joe's words resurfaced in my mind.  
  
"You don't have to worry about cheating on Pete . . . what did happen doesn't count . . ."  
  
"Patrick?" Pete said as he put his hand on my shoulder. "Patrick? Are you okay? Morning sickness should be over by now . . ."  
  
The blood drained from my face when I once again remembered the baby.  
  
Pete opened the front door and quickly ushered me inside, but before he could once again ask me what was wrong, I fainted.  
  
I awoke awhile later in Pete's bed, to the sound of arguing in the hall.  
  
"He's what?!" Joe said loudly.  
  
"Pregnant," Andy said softer than Joe, but still loud enough for me to hear.  
  
"You knocked him up?! Haven't you people ever heard of closing your goddamned legs? This is the last fucking thing we need."  
  
I rolled over and hugged Pete's pillow to my chest.  
  
"Yes, I'm well aware that this is the last thing we need, but there is nothing we can do about it now," Pete countered, his voice the loudest of them all. "I fucked up.  You don't have to keep fucking reminding me!"  
  
Andy said something I couldn't quite make out, but it must have been something along the lines of telling them to be quiet, because everything they said afterwards was too soft for me to hear.  
  
I pulled the covers over my head and after a few moments I heard the bedroom door open and close.  
  
"Jesus," Pete whispered as he leaned against the inside of the door.  
  
"Do you really feel that way, Pete?" I asked softly. "Am I your biggest mistake?"  
  
He signed and even though I was facing away from him, I heard the sound his socked feet made on the carpet as he walked across the room, and I felt the mattress dip under his weight as he sat down.  
  
"No, Patrick, you're far from my biggest mistake."--He placed his hand on my shoulder and pulled the covers back from my face.--"But right now you have to be my best kept secret."  
  
"Even though I would never wish this on another person, it can't be all bad. Right?"  
  
He lay down next to me and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind.  
  
"You're right, babies," Pete said and placed his hands on my stomach. "I mean, even though it doesn't seem real yet, you're actually pregnant. There's really a baby in there . . . somewhere, and it is our baby, Patrick."  
  
I put my hand on top of his.  
  
"I know. Every time I get sick, I think about it, and every time I think about it, I get sick again."--I laughed and turned in his arms to face him.--"So you really think this is a good thing?"  
  
"Yes. I can't wait for everything to return back to normal with you, but the baby is at least one good thing out of all of this mess. Joe will come around eventually. Just give him time."--He smiled and scooted down the bed a little so he could lay his head on my shoulder.--"Most gay couples spend their entire partnership fighting the government for the right to adopt and raise a child. If everything goes all right, we won't have to fight for that child. It will have our blood in its veins, and with no mother to be found, I dare anyone to try and take it from us."  
  
"You've thought about this a lot," I sated, a bit surprised.  
  
Pete tilted his head back in order to look me in the eye.  
  
"It is just about all me and Andy talked about last night."  
  
His brown eyes held so much genuine sincerity that I could not help but feel guilty about what I had accused him of earlier and I felt even worse about the kiss Joe and I had shared.  
  
I felt like every aspect of my guilt was permanently etched in fire behind my eyes and burning to be confessed.  
  
It truly was a fever I could never sweat out.  
  
But even though Joe had stopped that kiss from developing into something more, I knew that if I told Pete the truth about what had happened in Joe's living room, the fire of my guilt would singe his ears and maybe even consume his love for me. I was scared that he would leave me faster than fire can sweep across the prairie.  
  
Pete twirled a strand of my hair between his fingers as he lay in my arms and in my mind, he was beautiful.  
  
I could never live without him.  
  
I could never live without moments like this one. Moments in which the two of us would simply lay in one another's arms in silence, as close together as two people could be and still remain fully dressed.  
  
"I love you . . ." I whispered as I tightened my arms around him.  
  
He kissed my shoulder.  
  
"I know you do and I'll always love you, Patrick. No matter what, I will always love you," he said.  
  
I could not help but wonder if that was true and if he would still say things like that after he found out about what I had done.  
  
Would he always love me after he knew?  
  
Pete rolled me onto my back and leaned over me.  
  
"You know . . . Andy and Joe went to retrieve your car . . ."--He gently pressed his lips to mine.--"So we're alone for the rest of the night. I told Andy to leave your spare set of car keys in the mailbox before he takes Joe home."  
  
I smiled at him.  
  
"You do realize it's not even six o'clock yet, don't you?"  
  
He laughed and kissed my throat.  
  
"Yes, but I figured we could get a head start on sleep tonight. Yesterday was hard on both of us."  
  
"Did you sleep at all last night?" I asked as I brushed his bands off of his forehead with the palm of my hand.  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"You know me. I never sleep as much as normal people."  
  
I slipped my hand to the back of his neck and pulled his lips to mind.  
  
He kissed me hungrily. His hands slipped under my shirt and ran over my bare sides.  
  
"You're beautiful, Patrick," He whispered after the kiss broke. "All I could think of after you left yesterday was 'What if he doesn't come back' and then, when Joe called this morning . . . Oh God, Patrick . . ."--He kissed me again.--"I was so scared. I'm so glad you are safe and back home . . . with me."  
  
His words worked with his next kiss in just the right way to bring my guilt back even stronger than before.  
  
No matter how hard I tried to focus solely on Pete's kiss, Pete's touch, and Pete's taste, my mind kept resurfacing fragments of my memories of what it had felt like to kiss Joe.  
  
Even though Joe had told me that I had nothing to feel guilty about, I knew that my heart would not keep time with a steady conscience until I came clean and left my judgment in Pete's hands.  
  
When Pete leaned in to kiss me again, I bit the inside of my bottom lip and turned my face away from him.  
  
"Patrick?" He questioned. His voice already sounded concerned.  
  
"I . . ."--I took a deep breath.--"Can we talk?"  
  
"Yeah, of course, hun," he said as he rolled over onto his side, facing me. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I . . . I just . . . There is something I haven't told you about last night . . ."  
  
His face went void of emotion.  
  
"Those men . . . they . . . they . . . didn't actually, touch you . . . like that . . . did they?"  
  
"No . . . nothing like that. That part was exactly like I remember."  
  
Pete relaxed a bit.  
  
"Then what?"  
  
I took a deep breath.  
  
"Last night . . . after I got to Joe's house . . ."--I locked eyes with Pete in an attempt to read his reaction.--"I . . . well . . . I sort of kissed him . . . twice . . ."  
  
Pete's brown eyes closed as he rolled over onto his back.  
  
"You kissed him . . . or he kissed you?"  
  
"I kissed him . . ."  
  
He slowly slipped away from me.  
  
"What else did you do with Joe?"  
  
"That's all . . . I swear, Pete. That is all that happened."  
  
He fixed his eyes on the ceiling.  
  
"Why would you do that, Patrick?"  
  
I reached out for him, but he moved away from my touch. My heart seemed to stop inside my chest.  
  
"Pete . . . I don't know why. I wish I did, but I don't. I was drugged and scared, and he was there. I wasn't thinking . . . Pete . . . I love you . . ."  
  
"I know . . ." he said, his voice cold as he sat up. "But I can't deal with this right now."  
  
"Pete . . ."  
  
"I need to think some things out."--He stood up and straightened his clothing.--"You need your rest. Try to get some sleep."  
  
Then he left.  
  
I silently cried myself to sleep wondering if I had made a terrible mistake, but sometime during the night, Pete's arms slipped around my waist and his lips brushed against mine.  
  
"I love you, babe. Go back to sleep," he whispered and I knew that everything was going to be all right.


	8. A Bigger Surprise Than Bagels

"I have a surprise for you, lovebirds!" Andy announced in an overly cheerful voice as he came into the kitchen where Pete and I were eating breakfast.  
  
"Oh joy . . ." Pete said sarcastically as he pushed his cereal bowl away from him and laid his head on his arms.  
  
I ran my fingers through the hair on the back of his head.  
  
"Long night?" Andy asked.  
  
"Not in the way you're thinking . . ." Pete muttered.  
  
"Oh . . . Oh! I nearly forgot. I brought bagels!" Andy exclaimed and pulled a bag of bagels out of a shopping bag.  
  
I had not even noticed he was carrying the bag until that moment.  
  
"You brought bagels?"  
  
"Yes, Patrick, I brought bagels."  
  
"Some surprise . . . we have bagels of our own somewhere," I said as I looked around the kitchen in an attempt to locate our bagels.  
  
Andy sat down at the table and grinned.  
  
"The bagels aren't the surprise."  
  
Pete lifted his head.  
  
"You mean you brought cream cheese, too?"  
  
Andy squished his nose up and frowned.  
  
"Uhm . . . no . . . The surprise is that I called Mrs. Agnus last night when I got home and she agreed to come and live with you guys until the baby's born."  
  
"You've got to be kidding me . . ." Pete whined as he slammed his forehead back onto the table.  
  
I frowned.  
  
"We don't need her here."  
  
"Well, she and I both seem to think differently."--He began unpacking various food items from the paper shopping sack and lined them up on the tabled.--"She's also a midwife, and since we can't take you to a real doctor, she's the next best thing."  
  
"I don't want her staying in my house," Pete said.  
  
"Oh, don't worry. I have no objections to her staying with me," Andy said calmly.  
  
I grabbed one of the packages of _Capri Sun_ that Andy had bought, and Pete once again slammed his head onto the table.  
  
We had three days before he arrival of Mrs. Agnus, and it was far from enough time.  
  
  
The night before Mrs. Agnus was scheduled to arrive, Pete and I found ourselves laying on the livingroom floor. A movie Pete had rented played on the television, but neither of us was paying attention to it.  
  
Pete's hands ran up my shirt and down my sides. His teeth nibbled at the skin directly beneath my ear.  
  
"I'm going to write a song about making out with you," he whispered.  
  
I smiled.  
  
"You mean you are going to write _another_ song about making out with me?"  
  
"Why not?" He shrugged.  
  
"People are going to eventually figure it out."  
  
"Let them."--He grinned and rolled on top of me.--"I already want to scream how much I love you to the entire world."  
  
I pulled his lips to mine and gently kissed him.  
  
"Maybe one day you'll be able to do just that."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
Pete studied me for a moment. His eyes moved over my skin and seemed to see straight into my soul.  
  
I unconsciously held my breath as I waited for his next move.  
  
"God . . ." he whispered as he buried his face in the crook of my neck. "You're beautiful . . ."  
  
His arms tightened around me.  
  
The ending credits began to scroll up the screen and the heating system moaned before it kicked on.  
  
I stared upwards. My eyes fixed on the ceiling fan as he slowly turned.  
  
"Are you tired?" Pete asked as he sat up and stretched.  
  
"A little."  
  
"You want to just go to bed now?"  
  
I squinted in an attempt to read the clock across the room, but the television was no longer producing enough light to read the clock's hands.  
  
"It's . . . 6:55?"  
  
Pete laughed.  
  
"Try 11:30, 'Trick."  
  
"Damn . . ."--I rubbed my eyes.--"Yeah, bedtime sounds fun. What time do you have to go with Andy to the airport?"  
  
"I have to leave here by 8-fucking-a.m," he mumbled as he switched the television off, leaving the room completely void of light.  
  
I sat up and reached for where I had last seen him. My hand brushed his side and I pulled him closer.  
  
"I can't see, Pete . . ."  
  
His lips found mine in the dark.  
  
"Is that better?" He whispered after he broke the kiss.  
  
I laughed.  
  
"It's still dark."  
  
"Oh hush . . . you know a dark living room is nothing compared to my superpowers."--He stood up without letting go of my hand and then pulled me to my feet.--"I've never left a man behind, and I don't plan on starting now."  
  
He slipped his arms around my waist and I once again found myself kissing him, only this time there was more passion, more intent, concealed within his actions.  
  
Pete smiled against my lips and I could not help but scream as he suddenly picked me completely off my feet.  
  
"Ready to brave the darkness, darling?" He whispered into my ear.  
  
"Okay, superman . . . but so help me, if you drop me . . ."  
  
"Oh, stop your worrying. You know I won't let anything happen to you on my watch."  
  
I wrapped my arms around his neck and allowed him to carry me like his bride all the way back to our bed.  
  
  
 _'beep beep'_  
  
I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head.  
  
 _'beep beep'_  
  
"Holy mother of fuck . . ." I mumbled as my right hand blindly searched for the souce of the beeping. "Damn alarm clock . . ."  
  
Red neon lights proudly announced that it was seven a.m.  
  
"Fuck . . ."  
  
I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It was too early to be alive, let alone awake.  
  
Pete was already out of bed and in the bathroom.  
  
The air outside the covers was as cold as ice and sent knife like chills down my spine when I threw the comforter back and stepped out of bed. A layer of goose bumps formed over my bare skin.  
  
I grabbed a t-shirt off the floor and slipped it over my head. It was so large it easily fell to mid-thigh.  
  
"Pete?" I called as I knocked on the bathroom door. "Can I come in?"  
  
He did not answer.  
  
"Pete!" I said louder before I opened the door a little. "Pete?"  
  
Pete stood in front of the mirror, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He looked up when he heard the door open.  
  
"Gwd mwrn'm, wum," Pete said through a mouthful of toothpaste.  
  
I smiled and wrapped my arms around him from behind as he rinsed his mouth out.  
  
"Good morning," he said again after he spit and wiped his mouth.  
  
"You really have to leave this early?" I said softly.  
  
He kissed me and the taste of mint toothpaste and mouthwash momentarily invaded my senses.  
  
"Well . . . I am a little early . . ."--His hands ran under my shirt and up my bare thighs.--"Maybe I should get you back in bed before I finish getting dressed . . . It can't be healthy for you to be up this early . . ."  
  
"You sure have been horny a lot lately . . ." I commented when I felt his already hardening erection pressed against me.  
  
"Can I help it if I'm only human?" He grinned.  
  
"Only human?! What happened to those super powers you had last night?"  
  
I pressed my lips to his throat.  
  
"Well, babe . . .I exhausted them all on you last night . . ."--He pushed me against the bathroom counter.--"Remember?"  
  
"Mhmm . . . I think . . . I can remember . . ."  
  
I unwound the towel from around his waist and let it drop to the bathroom floor.  
  
He lifted me up off my feet onto the counter before he pulled my shirt over my head.  
  
"You better remember . . ."  
  
Pete kissed me hard and I caught myself having to hold onto the edge of the marble counter to keep from falling into the sink.  
  
I wrapped my legs around his waist. His fingers tangled in my hair.  
  
A low moan escaped his throat as his cock brushed against my inner thigh.  
  
"You can fuck me if you want . . ." I whispered against his lips.  
  
His eyes meet mine.  
  
Even though Pete and I had often been intimate since my change, I had only allowed him to actually fuck me a couple of times. Penetrative sex did not feel as much as some o the other things Pete could do, and had done, to me.  
  
Pete knew this.  
  
"Are you sure, Patrick?"  
  
"If you like it . . . then I want it . . ."  
  
"'Trick . . . I don't want you to have to pretend for me. If it does nothing for you, then I can do without it."  
  
I brushed my lips against his.  
  
"I love you. Anytime I'm close to you, I'm happy."--I rested my forehead against his.--"And when you're inside of me, even if it is like this, it is the closest two human beings can be without actually fusing together."  
  
He smiled and ran his tongue along my bottom lip.  
  
"I love you too, darling."  
  
I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled him to me, kissing him as hard as I could.  
  
He gasped and pulled me closer.  
  
"I'm all yours . . ." I moaned into the kiss as his hands ran over my bare skin.  
  
Pete bit into my bottom lip as he pulled me to the edge of the counter and positioned himself between my spread legs.  
  
"Yes, you most definitely are . . ." He whispered. "You're sure abou . . ."  
  
I slipped my hand between my legs, wrapped my fingers around his shaft, and pushed him inside of me before he could finish his sentence.  
  
His eyes closed and a moan escaped his lips when I took control of the situation.  
  
"Oh fuck . . ." He exclaimed, as his head fell to my shoulder, his lips brushing against my throat.  
  
"That's the point."  
  
He swallowed and I could feel him smile against my skin.  
  
"You're so full of sur . . ."  
  
"Shh . . ."--I kissed him.--"You talk too much."  
  
He pressed his lips to my collar bone and gently bit into my skin as he began moving in and out of me.  
  
I wrapped my arms around his back to keep my balance and dug my nails into his shoulders. Pete's knuckles went white from his hands being pressed hard against the mirror.  
  
When he came inside of me a few minutes later, I parted his lips with my tongue and swallowed his screams. He collapsed against me and if not for my arms around him, he would have fallen to the floor.  
  
"Pete?" I said quietly after moment.  
  
"Eh . . ."  
  
"I think it's time for you to get dressed now, babe . . ."  
  
  
While Pete was gone, I cleaned.  
  
Ever since the change, the house had been neglected.  
  
Almost every dish Pete owned was either precariously stacked in the kitchen sink, or scattered aimlessly around the house. The pile of dirty laundry in front of the washing machine was nearly as tall as I was. Not to mention there was at least an inch of dust gathered on top of every possible surface.  
  
I started a load of laundry and stuffed the dishwasher with as many dishes I could fit inside without having to worry about them breaking during the rinse cycle. The remaining dishes would have to be hand washed.  
  
Before I even finished with the first sink full, I was already bored with the chore  
  
"Damn you, Andy . . . you could have cleaned up after yourself when you were _helping us out_ . . ." I complained as soapy water sloshed out of the sink and all over the front of my shirt.  
  
I threw the wash cloth into the sink and added the wet shirt to the already monstrous pile of dirty clothes.  
  
"I'm never going to finish all of this . . ."  
  
"Patrick? We're back!" Andy called out as the front door opened. "Where are you?"  
  
I heard the sound of Pete tossing his car keys onto the table near the door, followed by several sets of footsteps.  
  
"Shit!" I cursed while digging through the equally frightening pile of clean clothes that appeared to have grown in front of the dryer.  
  
The first item my fingers came in contact with was one of Pete's older hoodies, but there was not enough time for me to find anything else to wear. I pulled it on and quickly zipped it up. Unfortunately, the zipper jammed around the same place my bra began, revealing quite a bit of cleavage.  
  
"There you are!" Andy exclaimed. "Why didn't you answer me?"  
  
I crossed my arms across my chest, hoping no one would notice my state of undress.  
  
"I was doing dish . . ."  
  
I abruptly shut my mouth when a girl around my age came into the kitchen. Her hair fell halfway down her back in, what seemed like, hundreds of tiny braids.  
  
She pushed a couple of these braids behind her ear and smiled at me.  
  
"Patrick," Pete said, his irritation apparent in his voice. " _This_ is Mrs. Agnus."


	9. The Art of Voyeurism

"Patrick, this is Mrs. Agnus."

I stared at the girl in disbelief.

"You're Mrs. Agnus?"

She laughed.

"Andy's always called me that for some reason, but please, call me Aggie."

"Aggie?" I echoed, still believing they were joking and at any minute the real Mrs. Agnus would walk through the door.

"Yes, Aggie. It's short for Agnus, Agnus Johnson, but only my mother and Andy ever call me Agnus."

Andy's grin widened even more.

"I told you I wouldn't mind her staying with me," he smirked.

My mouth fell open in disgust.

"You perverted son of a bitch!"

"She can't stay with you!" Pete and I both stated in unison.

I turned to Pete.

"There is no fucking way that I am going to let her stay with us!"

"Patrick!"

"I'm serious, Pete. She will not stay here," I said sternly, my fists clenched at my sides.

"It isn't fair to her for us to make her stay with Andy!"

"Well as far as I'm concerned, Andy fucking her is a hell of a lot better than you fucking her!"

"Patrick!" Andy and Pete yelled.

"I'm so sorry, Aggie . . ." Pete apologized, his face flushed.

He grabbed me by my wrist and pulled me out of the room.

"We'll be right back," he hissed through his teeth before the door closed behind us.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!"--He shook me by my upper arms.--"That girl is our guest. She came down here to help us, and what you said was completely uncalled for, Patrick, and you know it!"

"No," I screamed back at him. "What I said was not uncalled for! I know how you are with girls! You can't keep your eyes to yourself or your dick in your pants."--Tears clouded my vision.--"You think I don't know?! I know you'd rather I stayed this way then have me go back to how I was!"

"Do you think that's all I fucking think about?! Sex? You, of all people, should know me better than that. Goddamnit, Patrick!"--He released me from his grasp and shook his head, a look of disgust on his face.--"You think I didn't care about you before?"

A single tear broke away from my eyelashes and fell down my cheek. I rubbed my arms where Pete's nails had dug into my skin and fixed my eyes on the floor.

"I know how guys talk about girls who look like she does . . ." I whispered without looking up at him. "She's beautiful . . ."

Pete sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"Patrick . . . what do you want me to say to you? Why do you always doubt me? I love you, goddamnit! Why can't that be enough?"

"Y . . . you would rather have me as a girl . . . You would rather have a woman as a lover . . . Whether you know it or not, you're ashamed of me, Pete . . ."

I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of Pete's old hoody and crossed my arms over my chest.

"What the hell?! I'm not ashamed of you, Patrick!"

"Then how come you never held my hand in public before; yet you don't even hesitate about it now?"

"Oh, don't give me that shit!" He exclaimed. "I was the one who wanted to tell people before! It was you who thought it would upset the fans."

"I didn't mean I wanted to add an on stage make out session to our line-up!"

"Then what do you want from me?!"

"I . . ."--I swallowed.--"I don't know . . ."

He sniffed and turned his back to me. It was then that I realized he was crying.

"Patrick . . . can't you tell that I love you?" He whispered. "I love you so much I can't even picture my life without you in it, and I can guarantee you that I love you no more as a girl than I did before any of this happened. I don't want you to stay like this, but if you did, I would love you just the same. You're beautiful. In fact, you were prettier before you became a girl than that chick in there with Andy will ever be. You don't have to worry about me cheating on you; but if it makes you feel better, I'll take Aggie to a hotel down the street."

I reached out and placed my hand on the small of his back.

"Pete?" I softly whispered his name, and when he did not respond I did the only other thing I could think of, I wrapped my arms around him and cried.

The two of us remained that way until a soft knock on the door that lead from the kitchen to the dinning room caught Pete's attention.

"What do you want, Andy?" Pete asked without looking to see who had knocked.

"Guys?"--Andy opened the door and stepped halfway into the room.--"I'm going to show Agnus around town . . . give you guys some privacy, time to talk."

Pete nodded.

"Thanks, Andy . . ."

"Andy?" I spoke up before he had a chance to fully close the door again.

"Yeah, 'Trick?"

"Tell her I'm sorry,"

Pete and I spent the next four hours talking. We talked about life. We talked about each other. We talked about things that I had previously thought were simply understood. By the time Andy came back from showing Aggie around the city, Pete and I were once again at peace with one another.

For the first time since I met him, Andy actually rang Pete's doorbell instead of barging in without even a knock.

"Hey guys!" He said as soon as Pete opened the front door. "I figured you two might be having hot make-up sex in the hallway or something. So I thought it might be best to give you two fair warning."

"Now Andy . . . you know there's no such thing as make-up sex with Patrick."--Pete laughed.--"Hell, I'm doing good just to be in the same room with him after an argument."

"You are horrible!" Aggie exclaimed as she sat down on the couch next to where Andy had already collapsed, his feet propped up on the coffee table.

"We're not horrible; we're just men," Andy replied. "By the way, Joe's on his way over. I figured we could have a mini-party to properly welcome Agnus."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Pete said and wrapped his arms around me from behind. "Is that okay with you, hun?"

"Sure,"--I yawned.--"But I'm not too sure how long I'm going to be able to stay awake tonight."

"No problem," Andy replied with a grin. "I think we're going to crash here tonight,"--He looked at Aggie for confirmation.--"So . . . you two can go to bed whenever you'd like. We'll be quiet."

"Oh . . . okay," Pete said as he shrugged, his arms still around my waist. "You know the drill. The couch in the practice room folds out into a bed, someone can crash in here . . . I've slept on this couch many times before. It's bearable."

Andy laughed.

"Yeah . . ."--I looked over my shoulder at Pete.--"Are there sheets on the pull out?"

Pete gave me an odd look.

"Hell if I know . . . If not, Andy knows where they are . . ."--His eyes suddenly went wider as if he had just remembered something important.--"I moved all the shit out of the guest room and into the garage, so you can actually see the bed now."

"When did you did that?"

"Really? Where was I?"

Pete laughed.

"A few days ago, after you told us she was coming," he said to Andy before he looked back at me. "And I think you were asleep . . . It was one of those random hours of the night when I'm the only one alive."

"You should have woke me up. I should have helped . . ."

"Hey guys?" Andy said, gaining our attention. "About that . . ."

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier," Aggie said, as she interrupted Andy and fixed her eyes on me. "And I can relate. If I was you, I wouldn't want a girl staying in the same house I lived in with my boyfriend."

I narrowed my eyes and behind me, Pete seemed to be holding his breath as he waited on her to finish with what she had wanted to say.

"And," she continued. "If it makes you feel better, I would be willing to stay with Andy while I'm here."

"About that . . ."--I sighed.--"I'm really sorry about how I acted earlier. I overreacted. You don't have to stay with Andy. You're more than welcome to stay here, with Pete and I."

A confused look came over her face for a second.

"No,"--she shook her head.--"It's okay, I seriously don't mind staying with Andy. Really, I wouldn't have problem staying with Andy."

Pete smirked, and out of the corner of my eye I caught Andy mouth something to him.

It was my turn to be momentarily confused.

"What are you talking about?"--I looked from Aggie to Andy.--"You mean you actually want to stay with him?"

That is when I began to notice certain things about them that I had previously overlooked.

For example, the way the two of them were sitting on the couch. Andy's back was to the armrest, one leg stretched out in front of him on the couch and his other foot on the floor. Aggie sat between his legs, her back against his chest.

They were also holding hands.

"You're kidding, right?"--I turned to Pete for support, but he only grinned and shook his head at Andy.--"I can't believe this!"

Pete chuckled and began rubbing my shoulders.

"Sshhh . . . don't over react, babe . . ." he whispered into my ear before addressing Andy. "What did you two do today, anyways?"

"Not much," Andy said with a casual shrug. "We toured the local maze of suburbia, grabbed a bite to eat at that place near the grocery store that Patrick used to drag us to after practice just about every day last summer, and caught the last movie of the day at the matinee theater."

"What movie?"

An all too innocent grin formed on Andy's lips.

"Chicken Little."

Pete nearly doubled over in laughter, and if it had not been for his arms around my waist, he would have fallen completely to the floor.

"Andy! You . . . You idiot!" I screamed, my anger not allowing me to think of a better insult.

"Did . . . did you get kicked out this time?" Pete chocked between laughs.

Aggie was looking at me with an apparent state of bewilderment and confusion in her eyes; but before I could say anything to her, I heard a car pull into the driveway.

I untangled myself from Pete and went to open the door for Joe, glad to finally have someone around that did not have the mind of a fifteen-year old boy.

After Joe had been introduced to 'Mrs. Agnus,' the five of us did everything from watch television to play charades.

Around ten o'clock, Andy suggested a game of strip poker, and I decided it was time for me to call it a night.

I kissed Pete goodnight, dismissed myself to the others, and retreated to the bedroom.

Inside the bedroom, the air was slightly cooler than that of the rest of the house. The stillness of the room filled my lungs the moment the door closed, and as I leaned back into the mattress all of the worries that came with being awkwardly submerged in the company of others, faded away.

The various sounds from the living room, drifted through the walls of the house, but I was unable to make out the individual parts of the conversation. Their voices merely served as a constant reminder that I was not alone and that the peace I had found was only temporary.

I stacked two of the pillows beneath my head and kicked my shoes off into the floor.

Light spilled into the room from the bathroom and cast a spotlight on the bed. The movement of the ceiling fan caused the shadows to appear to dance as they flickered back and forth across the room.

As I laid in bed, my mind began to drift.

I remembered a conversation that had taken place between my mother and I when I was still in elementary school.

One of my cousins had just had a baby, and after visiting with her at the hospital I had asked my mother how the doctor had removed the infant from my cousin's stomach. My mother explained by telling me that females possessed a little jeweled box between their legs which they opened to have children.

This concept was one that remained with me until I caught a group of guys crowded around a pornographic magazine my freshmen year of highschool.

Out of curiosity, I had asked to look at the pictures. What I saw was decidedly much different that what I had imagined. Instead of a jeweled box, the space between the girl's legs was considerably more alive, threatening, repellent -- something that without a doubt horrified me. 

From that moment, even though I had not yet labeled myself as gay, I knew that unlike the other boys, I did not want to know what those puffy banks felt like, or where the dark crevice disappeared to between her legs.

Not long after that, my father decided I was old enough to learn about sexual functions. This conversation, like most conversations I had ever had with my father, did not go well.

He could not understand why I did not care to learn about female anatomy, and after a few minutes of trying to explain why most young men were girl crazy, he got on a tangent about masturbation.

He told me not to do it in the shower, because it wasted water and electricity and everyone would expect it of me there anyway, and not to do it onto the linen, and not to do it with my sister's undergarments or any clothes belonging to my mother, and not to do it with the dog. The best time was when I was certain no one else was in the house; and the best place was in the bathroom, where it would cause no trouble and would mix with the other sad waste products of America.

He concluded by saying that if I ever became concerned about any sign of perversion in my habits, I should feel free to come forward and discuss it. Together -- he explained -- we would consult a medical text.

At the close of the monologue, I was devastated and felt as if I had just learned of my family's financial ruin.

I've often wondered if that conversation with my father was the reason why I've always shied away from discussing matters pertaining to masturbation.

If the subject was brought up during a conversation, I would either change the subject or refuse to comment. When someone told a joke which pertained to the act, I would blush instead of laugh.

One time, Pete caught me in the shower and asked if he could watch. On numerous other occasions, he had voiced a desire to act as a voyeur to my private shows.

"I don't understand," he would say. "You'll talk ‘bout anything -- rimming, sucking cock, the lovely advantages of fucking or being fucked -- but you will not talk about fucking yourself. Why are you so uncomfortable with talking about jacking off? Everyone does it."

His lack of shame while discussing masturbation always caught me off guard, and although I have yet to find the courage to admit it, I have often got off to the thought of him watching me from the shadows of the room.

I unbuttoned my jeans and pushed them down to my ankles. With two fingers of my right hand, I traced up the slit between my legs before spreading the lips and slipping my fingers inside of me. I was surprised to find myself moist and warm to the touch.

As my fingers began to explore, their motions were soon reciprocated with the familiar feeling of electric pleasure, saturated with the forbidden sense of unexplored territory.

By the time I finally found what must have been my clitoris, I was already thinking of him.

I envisioned him standing in the room; not approaching me, just watching my hands roam over my body as I touched myself in the dark.

A soft moan escaped my lips as my free hand slid up my stomach to cup my breasts beneath my bra, and for a split second I felt as if nothing else mattered.

The door squeaked in protest as it was opened and the vison of Pete watching blurred with reality. My eyes locked with Pete's for a moment before the wave of shame came crashing down around me.

He smirked and shut the door behind him.

"Don't stop on my accord," he whispered as if anything louder would unravel the very threads the universe depended on in order to exist.

My hands covered my face in an attempt to disappear, but Pete would not have me anywhere but there in his arms.

His lips were as soft as velvet and I could feel a small bit of my confidence return as he kissed me.

He took my hand in his own and slowly guided it back between my legs.

"Shh . . ." he whispered before I could protest. "Do this for me, baby."

I swallowed, silently pleading with him to provide me with another option, but he had already withdrawn from me and I had no choice except to do as he wished.

Slowly, I began to move my fingers inside of me again, my eyes never breaking contact with his.

Pete smiled in approval as he unbuckled his belt.

My breath hitched in my throat and before I could fully process what was happening, he was standing before me completely naked.

He ran his hand along my side and across my stomach, pushing the fabric up my shirt up over my bust.

The muscles in my thighs began to tremble.

Pete brushed my hand aside and climbed astride me. He pulled my shirt over my head and spread my legs.

"Take your bra off, beautiful," he commanded, his voice thick and husky.

I rose slightly off the pillows in order to obey him and let the cotton undergarment fall to the floor with abandonment.

"Perfect," he whispered.

His lips crushed against mine at the same time he pushed himself inside of me. The inner walls of my passion instantly went taught, constricting around his organ.

The pleasure once again began to build within me. Pete's breathing began to come in uneven gasps, and I could feel the familiar feeling of my lungs straining for oxygen as I held my breath.

But before my body could force me to release the breath I had been holding; the pressure erupted, much like a river breaking through a damn, and flooded my entire being with a sense of utter bliss.

Pete's orgasm followed closely behind mine and as I fell asleep in his arms I felt complete, beautiful, and at peace with the world for the first time in over a month.


	10. Notes & Photographs

Whatever romance Aggie had found with Andy was short lived, and after three weeks, she moved in with Pete and me.  
  
Although she seemed more reserved than before and quick to anger when someone mentioned Andy, it was nice to have her around.  
  
Together, the two of us, with Pete's occasional help, were able to get the house back in order and stay on top of the chores, but Aggie's idea of clean was quite different from what I had always considered acceptable.  
  
"Patrick?" she asked one morning. "How long has it been since you guys cleaned the carpet in the practice room?"  
  
"Um . . . we vacuumed in there the other day, didn't we?"  
  
"Vacuuming doesn't clean the carpet any more than shaking your laundry washes it."--Aggie laughed.--"I'm going to call Pete and tell him to stop by the grocery store, or something, and rent a carpet cleaner."  
  
"Great . . ." I muttered to myself. "What a way to spend a Thursday morning . . ."  
  
In addition to our practice equipment, the practice room also contained several boxes of Clandestine merchandise stacked hap-hazardously against one wall.  
  
Pete had never announced that the boxes were off limits, but it had been implied.  
  
The contents of the boxes did not interest me. Pete would show me when he was ready, but I seemed to be the only one content with waiting.  
  
From time to time, Andy or Joe would stick their nose in a box and sort through various items. I would watch them from across the room, neither hindering nor helping them with their own clandestine adventures.  
  
Aggie shared Andy and Joe's impatient interest. Several times I would catch her lingering next to one of Pete's boxes. Every time, her eyes would meet mine and I would shake my head, signaling her that Pete's things were off limits.  
  
Her curiosity was not limited to Pete's boxes.  
  
She had a question about everything. She wanted to know what was in every drawer, every notebook, and every guitar case. She wanted to know who owned which instruments and which pedals. She craved to know how everything worked.  
  
"Teach me."  
  
I looked up from the stack of tabs that I had been sorting through.  
  
"Teach you?"  
  
"Yeah, teach me how to play something."  
  
"Like what?"--I laughed.--"What do you want to learn?"  
  
She sat down on the floor next to me.  
  
"What do you play?"  
  
"Well . . . I can play just about everything in this room . . ." I said as I looked around. "Well, except for that stupid oboe Andy bought as a joke."  
  
She burst out laughing.  
  
"He didn't!"  
  
"He did."--I grinned.--"He really did."  
  
For a while she was quiet and I thought the command had been forgotten, but a quarter of an hour later, she handed me my acoustic guitar.  
  
"Teach me?"  
  
I sighed and took the guitar from her. It felt strange in my hands.  
  
Several times since the incident, the guys had come over with the hopes of us achieving something as a band. Every time I would sit on Pete's amp and listen. Occasionally I would point out an out of place cord, adjust the gain on Joe's amp, or correct Andy when he found himself off beat, but I had yet to pick up a guitar and play with them.  
  
The guys often joked that I was afraid of breaking another string, but they were only partially correct. Yes, I was scared, but not of re-injuring myself. I was scared that I would no longer be able to play. Afraid that the pads of my fingers would be too soft, that my new female hands would not be able to reach across the fret board.  
  
I looked down at the guitar in my lap. My fingers gently caressed the strings.  
"Have you ever played before?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"All right."--I pressed three strings against the fret board and strummed the bottom five strings.--"A."  
  
I showed her a few simple chords and after half and hour, Aggie was able to play something that vaguely resembled a Green Day song.  
  
"I suck!" she said, frustrated.  
  
"Everyone sucks at first."--I laughed.--"I still suck."  
  
"You don't suck. You're awesome!"  
  
A blush rose in my cheeks as I once again found the guitar shoved into my hands.  
  
"Aggie, I . . ."  
  
"Just play something, 'Trick."  
  
 _Just play something . . ._  
  
Her words echoed in my mind.  
  
Could it really be that easy? Would I really be able to play like I used to play?  
  
I closed my eyes and rolled the pick between my fingers.  
  
My hand was slow moving across the fret board. The strings stung beneath my fingers. The first few connected chords sounded awkward and slightly out of tune, but I was playing. For the first time in three months, the music that filled my ears was my own and the song came straight from my heart.  
  
I was so relieved to be playing again that tears welled up in my eyes.  
  
Aggie placed her hand on my shoulder and smiled at me.  
  
"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"  
  
I threw my arms around her and cried.  
  
"Thank you, Aggie."--I pressed my lips to her cheek.--"Thank you."  
  
Aggie finished the rest of the chores by herself and by the time Pete arrived at the house with the carpet cleaner, any rust that I had acquired due to lack of practice had chipped away.  
  
I sat on the practice room couch, a guitar in my lap and several pages of loose leaf notebook paper by my side. Every now and then, I would look up from the guitar long enough to record a note or two on the paper before once again picking up the melody I was writing.  
  
The sudden flash of a camera caught me off guard.  
  
"Hey, babe."--Pete leaned against the door frame of the room, his digital camera in his hands.--"It's nice to see you with a guitar in your hands again."  
  
I smiled at him.  
  
"It's nice to be playing again, too. Maybe we can even have a successful practice or two now."--I patted the seat next to me on the couch.--"You wanna hear what I have so far?"  
  
"You know it, love, but first!"--He threw his arm around me, laid his head on my shoulder, and held the camera out in front of us.--"First we need a picture to memorialize this moment!"  
  
The camera flashed before I could protest.  
  
"Pete . . . no more pictures of me . . . like this . . ."  
  
"Hush, hush, 'Trick."--He grinned.--"I probably didn't even get us both in the frame. My camera and I have a major love/hate relationship with each other."  
  
"Now you hush," I mocked him. "You know you're better at that than most. How could you not be? All you do is take pictures of yourself!"  
  
"Yeah, but I have to take so many pictures because it takes ten shots just to get me in . . ." Pete's words slowed drastically before he finally fell silent.  
  
I don't remember ever seeing him like that before then. He was completely still, his teeth clenched. Looking back on that moment, I realize that he must have even stopped breathing. His eyes, slightly widened, were locked on the camera's display screen.  
  
"What's wrong?" I asked, as I set the guitar aside. My notes scattered across the floor. "Pete?"  
  
He jumped and pulled away from me when I closed my hand over his in an attempt to see what had transfixed him in such a manor.  
  
"Pete?! What's wrong?"  
  
He looked up at me the same way one might expect someone to view one of Botticelli's magnificent paintings, his eyes full of awe and wonder.  
  
Then he laughed. The soft sound of it spilled from his mouth as if the mere act of laughing was the only thing that could draw him out of his moment, and save his life.  
  
"I don't know . . ." he finally said, his voice soft and somewhat lost. "I really don't know . . ."  
  
His fingers traced over my face and ran through my hair before his pressed his lips to mine in a chaste kiss.  
  
"Where's Aggie?" He whispered, his question catching me off guard.  
  
"Aggie? But . . . I . . . Pete, I don't know . . ."  
  
He kissed me again and left the room, his camera clutched protectively in his hands.  
  
I kicked the guitar on the floor and tore at my notes. Tears poured down my cheeks and caused the ink to smear and blot. I did not even know why I was angry. All I knew was that nothing Pete ever did made any sense.  
  
Several hours passed before I finally left the practice room. I was tired, hungry, and slightly distempered that no one had came into the room to check on me while I cried.  
  
I found Pete stretched out on the living room floor, eyes closed. The television provided the only light in the room and artificial colors gave the room a cold, eerie feel.  
  
"Pete?" I whispered, unsure if he was awake or not.  
  
"Yeah?" he whispered back as he looked up at me, his outstretched arms inviting me to join him in front of the television.  
  
His hair was rumpled and there was a red mark across the side of his face from resting his head on his arms. It was apparent that if I had not awoken him when I entered the room, something else had only moments earlier.  
  
I could not help but smile at him. My former distress melted away as I took my place next to him on the floor. His arms wrapped around me and enveloped me in warmth.  
  
"I you . . ."  
  
"Mhmm . . . I love you too, babe," he whispered, his lips pressed against my ear.  
  
The television was tuned to an old, b-rated thriller movie from the early '80s. We watched it in silence, communicating solely with soft caresses and innocent kisses.  
  
Pete twisted a strand of my hair between his fingers. I let my hand slip beneath his shirt to rest on his stomach. His lips parted as he pressed them to my throat and gently nibbled at my skin. I interlaced my fingers with his and kissed each one in turn.  
  
He reached behind him and before I realized what he was up to, the flash of the camera once again flooded the room.  
  
I instantly pulled away from his grasp.  
  
"I told you not to . . ."  
  
"Baby,"--He reached for me, his hand closing around my wrist.--"Don't worry. I'll guard these pictures with my life. No one has to ever see them, but us."  
  
"You'd think you would have learned your lesson after the whole world saw your dick on MySpace," I spat out without thinking.  
  
The look on his face had me instantly regretting what I had said.  
  
"I wish you would trust me," he whispered. "I would never do anything to hurt you or to put you in danger. I just wanted to photograph you. I just want something to remember this by. I love you."  
  
Ever before Pete and I had become lovers, he had always added those three words after saying something he thought might possibly upset me. It was his way of letting me know that he did not want to have to later regret what he had said. He needed me to give in because he could not stand himself when I was mad at him. He also knew that if he made me feel guilty enough, I would always yield and give him what he wanted.  
  
It was one of the few things about Pete that I despised, but at the same time, I could not help but stand in awe of him because of it. He was the only man alive who never heard the word 'no.' He could work any situation to his favor, and even when it seemed like the tables had finally been turned against him, he always seemed to magically come out on top.  
  
I both hated and loved him for it.  
  
"I swear, Pete,"--I crossed my arms across my chest.--"If _anyone_ sees these pictures, even if its just Aggie or Joe, I'll _never_ forgive you."  
  
Pete's Adam’s apple bobbled up and down as he swallowed, his eyes almost seemed to look past me instead of at me.  
  
"You know, I can't guarantee you that they will never be seen by anyone besides the two of us, and I'm not about to make a promise that I'm not one hundred percent sure I can keep, but I can promise you that I will never purposely show them to anyone."--He once again reached out to me and I knew what the next words to leave his lips were going to be even before he did.--"You know I love you."  
  
"Yeah . . . I know you do."--I pulled my hoody over my head and tossed it aside.--"How do you want me, Mr. Photographer?"  
  
He grinned. The pleasure he found in his little victory over me showed in his eyes.  
  
Pete more than likely took a hundred pictures. Each one a little naughtier than the one that preceded it. Each picture showed a little more skin, a little more eroticism. It was, without a doubt, the most out of character thing I had ever done.  
  
Later on that night, I watched him closely as he flipped through the pictures on the camera.  
  
I was baffled by how close he studied each photograph. He often flipped back and forth between the same two pictures several times, pausing only long enough to watch me from across the room when he thought I was not paying attention, but he never shared them with me. They were his and his alone.  
  
Although curious, I was not about to beg Pete for a chance to see what he found so intriguing. There were always easier and less degrading ways to obtain something if I wanted it badly enough.  
  
During sex and those rare moments when he actually slept, Pete would yield to just about anything. He also very rarely remembered the things he let slip at those times.  
  
Taking this into consideration, it was far too easy for me to slip out of bed that night and lock myself in the bathroom, camera in hand.  
  
I had been expecting pictures like the ones taken by many lovers, pictures like the ones anyone can find online via a simple Google search. I had expected to see shameful, naked, embarrassing, even disturbing photographs of myself, but what I saw caught me entirely off guard.  
  
Instead of seeing myself as I now appeared--smooth skin, heavy breasts, stomach already slightly swollen from the baby, female--I was presented with an image that I had not seen in nearly three months.  
  
I saw myself the way I had been.  
  
I saw myself as male.  
  



	11. Caution: Little Ears Listening

There was now no denying that I was pregnant. The morning sickness had completely passed, but in exchange, my stomach had begun to rapidly increase in size. My breasts had also grown in time with the baby and several times I had been forced to leave the safety of the house in order to buy new clothes.

I had also discovered, to my horror, that they did not make maternity clothes for men or lesbians. The farther along the pregnancy progressed, the more girly the clothes became.

"Oh come on, 'Trick!" Aggie exclaimed during one of our shopping expeditions. "Just try it on. It's adorable and it will be less to press on your stomach."

"No!" I shouted a little louder than intended. "For the last time, I will not be caught dead in a fucking dress!"

My outburst drew the attention of several ladies in the store. Their disapproving glares made me feel even more uncomfortable and out of place.

"What the fuck was their problem?" I asked after we had left the store. "They acted like I murdered someone every time I opened my damn mouth. It's not like I was corrupting any of their kids or anything. I mean, the oldest kid I saw in there was, like, one and I highly doubt he's going to remember a fucking word I said."

She looked over at me and shrugged, a slight smile playing upon her lips.

"Well . . . it's been proven that a baby can hear whatever the mother hears while it is in the womb, and most women believe that the things a child is subjected to before its birth can have a great impact on how the child behaves after birth."--She took her attention off of me only to crank the car.--"That might be part of why they seemed to want you dead."

"You mean it can hear me?" I asked, unconsciously placing a hand on my swollen stomach.

"Well you . . ."--She laughed.--"It probably doesn't hear things as clearly as you and I do, but it can hear you."

"And it understands what I'm saying?"

"Actual words?"--She shook her head.--"No, but it understands the emotion behind your words. If you raise your voice, it can upset the baby and cause it to move around more. It's a real baby, Patrick. It sleeps. It cries. It dreams. Anything that can upset a baby that has already been born will upset it before birth as well."

I thought about what she had said in silence.

Here I was one week short of being seven months pregnant and there was still so much that I did not know about the child growing inside of me.

I wondered how many times I had unintentionally upset the baby. I wondered how many times I had already caused it to cry.

"I can't do this . . ." I finally said, my head spinning with so many thoughts that I felt nauseous. "I can't have a baby. I can't be a parent. I just can't do this."

Aggie slowed the car but otherwise remained unfazed. The loss of momentum caused the tiny braids that made up her hair to sway back and forth. The sunlight reflected off her sunglasses.

"You have no choice, but you shouldn't worry about it now. You won't be alone. I'm not going to run away back to the South the day after your son's born. I'm going to be here to show you how to care for it and I'm not leaving you until you are comfortable enough with him to do so on your own. And don't forget that you'll have Pete as well. You'll do fine."--She momentarily tightened her grip on the steering wheel and smiled at me.--"Besides you know you love your baby. Men don't have babies everyday."

I looked down at my stomach. The baby stirred ever so slightly inside of me.

"How do you know that?"

"How do I know men don't have babies every day?" She asked, giving me a strange look from the corner of her eye.

"No, not that!"--I laughed.--"How do you know it's a boy?"

"Oh, that!"--She paused, only continuing after she had successfully pulled into Pete's driveway and killed the engine.--"To be honest with you, I don't know. It's just a hunch, but it makes sense if you think about it."

"It makes sense?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure how much you know about genetics, but gender is determined by the male sex gamete. If the embryo gets a 'Y' chromosome it's male and if it doesn't, it’s not. Even though you're female on the outside, you're still male inside. So it's very unlikely for the baby not to get a 'Y' chromosome or two, but if it has two 'Y's it would have self aborted within the first month of the pregnancy."

"Yeah, I vaguely remember that shit from highschool. I just never really thought about it like that before," I said, my eyes still fixed on my stomach.

"Yeah, like I said, if you think about it."--She handed me the shopping bag from the maternity store and stepped out of the car.--"You're also carrying the baby quite low, which is another common characteristic of a male child."

"Oh, wow . . . "

"Yeah," she said. "And if you hadn't started thinking of names yet, you might want to start. You've only got about two months left. I highly doubt you're going to carry him to term."

Names. That was the one thing about the baby Pete and I could never agree on, and lately, it had gotten to the point in which Pete would simply change the subject whenever I mentioned it.

If Aggie was right about the child's sex, then I believed the baby should be named after Pete, to keep to the tradition his family had started three generations ago. However, Pete disagreed. He claimed he had never been fond of his own name and that the last thing he wanted was to curse his child with the name the same way his father had cursed him.

"Kids will make fun of him, Patrick," Pete had said one night, as he kneeled in front of me on the couch, his hands holding tightly onto mine. "They'll either beat him up because of his name or they'll befriend him just because of his father. He won't be able to have a normal life . . ."

"And you think my life was normal?" I asked him. "My name wasn't Peter Wentz, but I was still teased, pushed around, bullied, and ignored. It's a part of growing up. Yeah, kids are cruel, Pete, but they are cruel to everyone. It has nothing to do with what the child's name is or who they are named after."

"Patrick, no. For the love of God, shut the hell up!"--He threw his hands up in defeat.--"We are not naming this child after me!"

"For the love of God, ey? Well in that case, I'm never going to shut up. This is a big deal, Pete. You shouldn't even have to think about it. You should want to do it out of respect for your family."

"My parents don't give a damn about that so called tradition," Pete protested. "The only reason it was even started in the first place was because my grandmother was dead set on having a girl, and when my dad came out with a dick she couldn't think of any other name. It's not going to offend anyone if we name our baby something else."

"It won't offend anyone? Then go to your mom and have her put that in writing," I said as I locked eyes with him, my voice steady. "If you can get that in writing, I'll shut up and let you name the baby whatever you want."

The subject was not brought up again and I had a feeling that Pete never went to talk to his mother. I knew that I would have to be the one to talk to her if I ever wanted to find out her true feelings about the baby and what she believed it should be named. And even though she both knew and approved of Pete's and my relationship, I would not be able to reveal myself to her. I would have to go to her as this new person, this new persona I had somehow become. I would have to go to her as a tired, desperate, and vaguely familiar young woman who fell pregnant as a result of one of her son's numerous nameless one-night stands.

It was more than likely one of a mother's worst nightmares, but that was very story Pete and I had decided was the most believable way to cover for the situation. There was no way around it.

Meanwhile, Pete continued to fill his camera with pictures of me, and never once let me see the end results; but, I knew what the pictures revealed. I also knew that it would only be a matter of time before I would have to let Pete know that I had stolen his camera not once, but several times, in order to see myself the way the camera saw me, as my old self and male.

As my stomach grew, so did my worries about the baby. I continuously thought about how my every move could be affecting it. When someone cussed around me, I covered my stomach, shielding the baby from their words. When someone upset me, I would leave the room in order to avoid disturbing the baby with my temper. When Aggie or one of the guys would cook dinner, I would pick through my food, only eating the parts I considered healthy. And when Pete would wrap his arms around me at night and press against me in the dark, I would pull away from him, fearful that acting on my desire would somehow damage the child in my womb.

I did not know if Aggie noticed my discomfort around Pete or if he had gone to her about it, but she brought up the issue one day while the two of us were folding clothes in the laundry room.

She explained to me that sex cannot harm the baby and it was actually a healthy part of pregnancy.

"The baby grows closer to you every day because it is physically a part of you. It doesn't have that connection with its father and until your stomach grows too large to do so comfortably, then go for it. It's the only way the baby can truly know its father."

With Aggie's words I mind, I decided that the next time Pete touched me, I would not resist him.

Although if I had known what Pete had planned for next time, I might have thought twice before I made that vow.

He let himself into our bathroom while I was getting ready for bed, his hands behind his back, his classic 'I'm up to something' grin plastered across his face like a billboard.

"Oh, no," I declared before he even had a chance to speak. "I don't know, but whatever you're up to, count me out."

He laughed, his dark bangs falling into his eyes.

"And what makes you think I'm up to something, 'Trick?"

"Because I know you, and nobody can look that devious and still be innocent," I said.

"So I look devious, do I?"--He wrapped his arms around my waist from behind me and laid his head on my shoulder--"Devious can be a very good thing though."

"Not with you it isn't,"--I turned in his arms and leaned my forehead against his.--"But I guess I could risk it this once. What's on your mind?"

Pete smirked, the once dangerous gleam in his eyes fading to one of soft admiration and love.

"You," he whispered, his lips gently brushing against mine.

"That wasn't exactly the answer I was looking for," I said as I pulled away from him. "I love you, but I don't want to play any games tonight."

"Games? No games."--He shook his head.--"You're all I want tonight. No strings attached."

I knew he was lying and even though he was good at it, I could see straight through him. In fact, lying had become Pete's new habit as of late. He could look you dead in the eye and tell you exactly what he knew you wanted to hear. And he could do it in such a way that even when all of your intuition told you not to believe him, you just could not help but go along and hope your insight was wrong. With Pete, there was always a catch. Sometimes it just took time to figure out exactly what the catch was.

But Pete was not stupid. He had a sixth sense for knowing when his prey doubted him, and he had a special knack for soothing uneasy nerves.

"Patrick, you trust me don't you?" He said softly, twisting my hair between his fingers. "I love you."

"I know you love me, Pete. I just . . ."--I sighed.--"I know you're up to something. You're always up to something. I trust you, but I don't know what you're thinking at times like this."

"At times like this?" He asked, his eyes narrowing as he waiting on me to answer.

"Yeah, at times like this . . . Whenever you feed me your 'do you trust me' lines. You might say there are 'no strings attached', and that you only want me, but nine times out of ten you don't mean it."

Pete's face went blank, but he did not move away from me. My words had served as a mental slap in the face. And even though I had not intended on them to come across so harsh, they had reached his ears as cold as ice.

"You think I'm lying to you, 'Trick?"--He rubbed his hands against his jaw, cracking his knuckles in the process.--"I'm not lying to you . . . and if I told you how I wasn't lying, you wouldn't believe me . . ."

"Then try me, Pete!" I exclaimed. "I'm not stupid! If you can hear and understand something, then I sure as hell should be able to comprehend it as well. I'm not as fragile as you think I am, but you're going to break me if you keep treating me like I'm a child."

"You know what? You're right. There is something I'm keeping from you about tonight," He said and shook his head, his hands moving violently as he emphasized each word. "I wanted to make love to you. I wanted to tell you that I loved you. I wanted to fucking hold you as I feel asleep. You haven't let me touch you in over a month! All I wanted to do was to show you that I loved you. And yes, I had something up my fucking sleeve. I wanted to video tape you the entire time. I wanted to remember the way you looked forever. But it wasn't for my sick twisted pleasure of masturbating while replaying the fucking tape in my room some day in the future when you're not here. I . . ."

He bit his lip as if he was debating whether or not to come clean. Suddenly he left the bathroom, pausing in the doorway only long enough to make sure I knew the conversation was not over and that he would be right back.

I picked up my toothbrush with the intentions of brushing my teeth as I waited on him to return, but I never uncapped the toothpaste or turned on the faucet. My chest hurt, and the baby kicked unrelentingly at my ribs. It sensed my guilt and decided to punish me, make me feel even worse than I already did.

Pete came back into the bathroom a few minutes later, his camera in his hand, his laptop under his arm. He cleared an area of the bathroom counter off and proceeded to start the computer. I watched him, both hands on my stomach.

"I didn't want to tell you about these for a reason," He said as he waited on Windows to log him on. "It wasn't because I thought you didn't deserve to see them, but because I didn't think they would help anything. I thought they would make you feel worse about everything . . . I just . . . I didn't want them to hurt you any worse than you already have been."

I nodded and leaned against the counter. I knew he was going to show me the pictures he had taken and now, for the first time since I had stolen his camera, I knew why he had kept them as his dirty little secret. The baby gave one more hard kick and then stopped completely.

"I . . ."--I took a deep breath, unsure of how to tell him.--"I know about the pictures, Pete . . ."

He froze before slowly turning away from his computer to look at me.

"Y . . . you do?"

I looked at the tile floor between us.

"I stole your camera one night when you were asleep . . . I know I should have told you before, but I just . . ."--I kept my eyes fixed on the bathroom tiles that adorned the floor between us.--"I thought that if I gave you enough time, you would show them to me yourself. I just . . ."

He sighed and closed the laptop. The clicking sound it made as it closed echoed softly against the bathroom walls.

"I wanted to show them to you, but Aggie and I both agreed that they could do more harm than good . . ."

"I love you," I said, interrupting him.

He smiled and pulled me into his arms, embracing me tightly.

"You're just saying that to make me shut up," he whispered into my hair.

"Well . . . yeah . . . but I do mean it," I said.

"I know you do, 'Trick. I know."

Pete took my hand and led me out of the bathroom. The toothbrush I had been holding fell to the floor, but neither of us noticed.

We laid together on Pete's bed simply holding one another, nothing farther than the occasional kiss. I rested my head on his shoulder. He held his hands against my stomach.

"You feel it move, I know you do," He said in a hushed voice as he slid his hands beneath my shirt. "Would I be able to feel it?"

"You should be able to feel it, I mean, I can see it sometimes."

"Really?"--He sat up so he could better see my stomach.--"Could I see it move?"

"If it decides to move, then yeah."--I laughed at him.--"I can't make it move though. It just sort of does it when it feels like it."

"Can I try to get it to move?" He asked, that mischievous look once again securely fastened to his face. "In a nonviolent way of course."

With my permission, Pete spent the next quarter of an hour trying to stimulate the baby enough to feel or see it move, but nothing happened. He poked at the baby repetitively. He pressed his lips to my stomach and talked to it. He even shown a flashlight at it, which always caused the baby to kick when Aggie did it, but the baby remained asleep.

He eventually gave up, switched the light off, and climbed back under the covers with me. He wrapped his arms around me, his hand barely pressing against my stomach.

Neither of us spoke, and after a few moments it was apparent that Pete was asleep. I whispered goodnight to him and cuddled closer, my eyes closed. The very moment I did so, the baby let off a single kick. I opened my eyes, placed my hand on top of Pete's on my stomach, and smiled. He had not felt a thing.


	12. In This Stage We Can't Get Hurt

Several weeks passed, and Pete still showed no signs that he planned on talking to his mother about the baby.

After throughly examining me, Aggie had once again expressed her doubts about me being able to carry the baby to term. I was already thirty-three and one half weeks along, and was running out of time. If I was going to receive an answer about the baby's name, I would have to act on my own. I could not wait on Pete any longer.

"Aggie? Can you give me a ride to Pete's parent's house?"

"I can't today," she replied without even looking up from her needlepoint. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Get Pete to take you then."

I sighed, but left her alone.

Andy had been bragging for weeks about a girl he had meet in downtown Chicago, some barely legal groupie who thought dating a celebrity was the best thing she could ever do for social life, even though, in the end, he would more than likely destroy whatever reputation she might have had. He had also been very adamant about the fact that he was taking this particular girl out today and I could not ask him to cancel or postpone his plans for me.

There was only one other person I could call. Joe.

It took him six rings to answer his phone. His television could be heard playing loudly in the background.

"Hello?"

"Joe . . . it's Patrick."

"Oh?"

"I need you to do me a favor . . ."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The program he had been watching on his television switched to commercials.

"All right," he finally said and I let out the breath I had been holding. "Where?"

"I . . . I have to talk to Pete's mom about something . . ."

"His mom? Are you sure she's someone you should be talking to like this?" He asked, his voice stern.

"Just trust me . . . I have to talk to her."

He sighed, and in my mind I could see him running his hands through his hair, chewing on his bottom lip.

"I'm no my way," he said after a few moments. "But you better not get me in trouble."

The line went dead before I could thank him.

I had not seen Joe in several months, and with every passing minute my nerves grew a little more uneasy.

The details of what had happened the night before I woke up, half dressed, in his bed were still unknown to me. And even though he swore up and down, left and right that nothing had passed between us but a kiss, I still had my doubts.

There were too many things about that night that I was unable to account for.

The faint bite marks I had discovered on my neck and thighs were one. The soreness in my back and between my legs was another; however, the biggest clue I had so far were the looks Joe gave me when he thought no one else was looking. They were looks of regret tinged with pure passion and lust. They were also the reason Pete had been trying everything in his power to keep Joe away from me.

Pete was going to be very upset with me when he found out I had spoken to his mother, but if he somehow learned that I had asked Joe to take me, he would be furious.

It felt like the child inside of me was turning somersaults and the cereal I had eaten for breakfast was beginning to make me nauseous.

"Be still!" I scolded, lightly slapping my stomach. But the baby took no heed of my warning, and I had no other way of backing up my threat.

By the time Joe arrived I was a nervous wreck. The combined stress of having to talk to Pete's mother and spend a good part of a day with Joe was almost unbearable.

Joe's jaw dropped when he first saw me. Although I had been showing the last time he had seen me, he was in no way prepared for how large my stomach had grown.

In fact, it was so large that I had, on numerous occasions, asked Aggie if there was any chance I was pregnant with more than one child. But she always laughed and reassured me that, as far as she could tell, there was only one baby and that if it was twins, she would have told me.

Instead, she dismissed it as swelling.

"It's normal for a first time mother to retain quite a bit of water," she said. "It's also why your feet and hands are swollen. It's nothing to worry about."

But still I worried and wondered if I should be asking Pete's mother for the permission to name two children instead of one.

"My god, how are you still walking?" Joe exclaimed as he opened the car door for me. "You look like you're about to pop!"

I laughed.

"I'm barely even eight months!"

"Eight months?" Joe repeated. "Only a month left . . . wow."

"Yeah."--I looked out the window. The nerves I had worked up while waiting on him died down a bit and the sound of another person's voice seemed to have calmed the baby as well.--"Anywhere from thirty-six to thirty-eight weeks is considered full term. I'm just about thirty-four right now. So it shouldn't be too much longer before I can get this thing out of me and, hopefully, return to my old self."

"Hopefully . . ."

He fixed his eyes on the road; I fixed mine on the floorboard.

"Why do you need to see Pete's mom?"

"We . . ."--I shifted in my seat.--"We have an issue about . . . about the baby. I . . . I couldn't get Pete to talk to her about it, and if I don't do it, no one will."

"Is it really something that's important enough for you to have to go to her like this?" He said after a moment. "I mean . . . she has finally accepted the fact that her son is gay and in a committed relationship for the first time in his life. If you go to her like this, you're going to shake one of those beliefs."

His words were like a magnetic force, pulling me headfirst into a wave of memories.

I would never be able to forget how she had cried when Pete had first broke the news to her. She would later explain that her tears had been a mixture of joy and sorrow -- that even though she had never considered her child as anything other than heterosexual, the thought that he was finally happy had overjoyed her.

Pete had not even had to tell her who he was involved with. She had just known. And when she threw her arms around me -- her sighs balanced only by her smile -- I had hugged her back without a moment’s hesitation. And when her sobs subsided long enough for her to speak, her words caused tears to form in my own eyes.

"You know, Patrick," she said. "I've always considered you as a second son. And if my son has to love another man, I'm honored that it's you."

"Patrick? Are you even listening to me?" Joe asked, his voice reminding where I was.

I looked over at him and smiled.

"Just trust me on this one."

Before I realized how long we had been driving, Joe pulled up to the curb outside of Pete's childhood home.

"Do you need me to go in with you?" he said, his hand resting on my shoulder.

"No,"--I took a deep breath and subconsciously placed my hand on top of his.--"It was my choice to do this, and . . ."

Before I could finish my sentence, Joe's fingers intertwined with mine and his lips pressed to my cheek in a quick kiss.

"Just keep in mind that if you need me, I'll be out here."

"I . ." I stammered, completely caught off guard by his sudden show of affection, but he seemed just as calm as he had been before it happened. "I'll let you know if I need you . . ."

The tension in Joe's car made it hard to breathe. And as I stepped out of his car and made my way toward the door of Pete's parent's home, my mind was racing with more than just apprehension about what I was about to have to tell her.

I really could not have picked a better time to talk to her. It only about two o'clock and Pete's father was still at work. My many visits with Pete had taught me that by this time, she was always finished with whatever chores she had assigned herself for the day, and any errands she might have had to run were already taken care of. But even though I knew that she had no reason not to be at home, a part of me wanted nothing more than for my knocks to go unanswered. But just like I seemed to be in so many other aspects of life, I was out of luck.

My knocks were answered by a shuffle of a curtain, the turn of a lock, and then the door opened ever so slightly. I had never been nervous around Pete's mother before, but at that moment she seemed more like a dangerous stranger than the loving second mother I had grown accustom too.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice stern with just a hint of concern.

"W . . . we need talk," I said, my eyes shifting from the ground, to the interior of the house behind her, to the pattern in the wood grain of the door -- anywhere but her face.

"Talk?" -- She looked out over my shoulder, more than likely to where Joe was waiting in his car, and then back at me. -- "Okay, come on in."

Once inside, an awkward silence passed between us. Both of us were unsure of how to handle the situation at hand. To her, I was a complete stranger, standing in her foyer; and, I was too nervous -- if not scared out of my mind -- to figure out what should be said first.

For a while she simply studied me, her arms crossed and eyes slightly narrowed. I could almost feel her eyes boring into me as she looked from my swollen stomach to my face, searching for any sign that my silence could offer as to whom I was and why I was there. I caught her eyes lingering on my hands, perhaps looking for some sort of wedding or engagement ring, but when she found nothing she sighed, her patience wearing thin.

"And?" she said. "You said you needed to talk, so talk. I let you in because I respect the man who brought you here, but that does not mean I have to let you stay."

"I . . I'm sorry . . ." I said softly. "I don't know how to say what needs to be said. I don't know where to start or what to say first . . . I . . . I thought I had everything figured out in the car . . ."

Anxiety was building inside of me faster than it had the very first time Pete ever had me step up to the microphone to sing in front of a crowd. My hands were shaking and my palms were sweaty. Every breath I took seemed to be a little harder than the one before it, and the door behind her seemed to be growing smaller and smaller. My reason for being there suddenly became the last thing on my mind. All I could focus on was getting out of that house as fast as I could.

"I . . I'm sorry . . ." I managed to say, my voice small and almost fragile sounding, as I pushed past Pete's mother in an attempt to make it to the front door and to the safety of Joe's car, but before my fingers could close over the doorknob, a hand closed over my shoulder.

"Hun, before you go," she said. "Can you just tell me your name?"

My heart skipped a beat. Out of all the questions I had prepared an answer for, the simplest one had eluded me. I searched my mind for something to tell her, for a name that would be believable, for any name other than my own; but, it was as if every female name I had ever heard had suddenly been flushed from my mind.

"You can't tell me," she stated, her voice a mixture of sympathy and curiosity. "Well . . . Can you at least tell me if that man outside in the car is that baby's father?"

Everything seemed to have gone wrong. I had planned this entire visit out in my mind, step by step, word by word, but the tables had turned on me. Instead of me feeding her the plastic story Pete planned on presenting to the media once the baby was born, she had put me in the spotlight and was seeking answers.

Tears filled my eyes and blurred my vision as I shook my head.

She took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, and I was pretty sure she had at least vaguely figured out the nature of my visit.

"Well then . . ." -- She nodded toward the living room, her hand sliding from my shoulder. -- "We do need to talk. Let's go in here and sit down."

I must have been in that living room at least a thousand times since Pete had bought this house for his parents, yet when I took a seat on the pale yellow and blue floral print sofa, it felt like a completely new experience. My eyes drifted from the floor, to the window, to the fireplace -- taking in the small details that had always made this house feel like a second home to me.

Nothing had changed since the last time I had been inside the house, except for the pictures on the mantle. Before, there had been six frames, each containing a different image of the people that Mr. and Mrs. Wentz considered their family. There had been one taken of Pete's parents on their wedding day, one of the young couple holding an infant Pete, a picture of Pete that appeared to have been taken right before I meet him, another of the entire band sitting on the front porch, and then finally, a picture of me from the day that Pete had broken the news to her that we were dating. Only this time, the picture of me had been removed and in its place was a picture of Pete and I from the last time we had visited his parents together -- my back against his chest as I sat between his legs on the couch, my feet propped up against the armrest of the very same couch I was sitting on at that very moment.

Seeing Pete and I together in the same picture and proudly display upon the Wentz's mantle with the other pictures of their family members was almost too much for me. The tears that had welled up in my eyes before, once again threatened to fall. The love and acceptance that Pete's parents had shown me so far had always been moving, but that single picture meant so much more to me than I could ever explain in words. It meant that now, I truly was their family.

And just like that, all apprehension I had about talking to Pete's mother vanished, and before I realized what I was doing I had spilled just about everything -- except for the fact that I was the same person whom she had so warmly opened her arms to on the night her son had confessed his biggest secret.

And just like she had on that night, she welcomed me into her arms and told me that everything was going to be okay, that she was there for me and the baby.

She also quieted any fears I had concerning the child's name and backed up what I had been trying to convince Pete for months.

The child -- if born a little boy -- would be named after his father.

Now all I had to do was show Pete that I was not going to back down.

Almost all too soon, my visit came to a close. She walked me to the door, embraced me one last time, and whispered, "Take care of yourself, Patrick."

I opened my mouth to protest -- to tell her that she was mistaken -- but before I could, she smiled and retreated back inside her home. The front door shut, the lock turned, the curtain shuffled, and I walked back to the car where Joe was waiting.

Later on that night, Pete and I went shopping for the baby. I had yet to tell him about my visit with his mother, but for some reason -- while we were looking through various racks of newborn sized clothing -- I decided I had to tell him. Although, now that I think back on the situation, I should have picked a more private place to have had that discussion.

"Have you talked to your mother about what I asked you to, yet?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

He looked up from the rack of tiny clothing and laughed.

"Haven't had the chance," he said casually shrugging and holding up a little yellow dress. "What do you think of this one?"

"Aggie says she's pretty sure the baby's a boy . . ."

"Hey, that doesn't mean shit, 'Trick." -- He laughed. -- "I'm a boy too, and that doesn't mean I don't appreciate a fabulous dress when I see one."

"Lewis is not going to be a drag queen," I countered, my hand on my stomach.

Pete's smile died almost as soon as the words left my mouth. He hung the dress back on the clothing rack and leaned over toward me.

"Lewis?" He questioned, his voice low as if he did not want anyone else to hear him. "When did you decided on that?"

"Well we very well can't call him Pete or Peter, there would be too much confusion over who we're talking about." -- I shrugged and continued to look through the various clothing articles. -- "So I figured Lewis was better than calling a baby Kingston."

"I thought I'd made it clear that we weren't going to name the baby after . . ."

"Do you ever listen to me, Pete?" I asked him, turning to face him for the first time since the baby's name was mentioned. "For the past couple of months, I've done nothing but try to explain to you why it is so important for us to name this child after your family; yet, you've done nothing but argue with me! I asked you to talk to your mother about it, you conveniently forget or dodge the subject when I bring it up, and I'm sick of your fucking shit!"

"Oh, no you don't," he said, trying to get between me and the clothing rack. "You told me to figure out whether or not that fucking tradition was important to my parents, and I don't have to talk to them about it, because I know that they don't give a shit what we name our damn baby!"

"For your information, I happen to know that the child's name is very important to your family, and that they would be devastated if our damn baby is named anything other than after tradition!" I hissed, my outburst gathering the attention of several of the other customers.

"And what makes you so sure about that, huh?" He demanded.

"Because I did the job you refused to do," I spat at him. "I talked to your mother."

"You fucking did what?!" Pete exclaimed, but I had already pushed him out of my way and made my way out of the store, leaving Pete to mutter an apology to a few of the customers and employees on his way out of the store to chase after me; however, neither of us noticed the young girl standing near the back of the store or the video camera she held in her hands.


	13. Shut The Fuck Up, Andy Hurley!

Once we got home that night, both of us had calmed down substantially.  And even though very little conversation passed between us that evening, by the time we retired to bed, Pete was more than ready to talk.  
  
He asked questions, and I answered them.  He wanted to know what had happened and why I had gone on my own without telling anyone; and, I told him about his mother's reaction and then explained that I had tried to tell someone, but Joe had been the only one willing to listen.  
  
He wanted to know if Joe had done anything inappropriate while I was in the car with him.  He asked if Joe had touched me or mentioned anything that he should know about.  He also confessed that he might be able to get used to naming the baby after him, as long as we did not have to call it Pete or Peter.  But he then added that he hoped we had a little girl, because he wanted an excuse to buy the lacy dresses.  
  
We talked about the picture frame that now set on his parent's mantle piece, and how that made each of us feel.  We laughed about how scary it was that his mother would let a complete stranger into her house just because the stranger had arrived with Joe. And we traded a few angry words over who was to blame for the argument in the baby store.  
  
In the end, the only thing I left out was the last thing that his mother had said to me. And when the conversation came to a close, his main concern was over the fact that I had asked Joe to give me a ride, not about who I had visited or what I wanted to name our baby.  
  
We fell asleep that night staring at opposite bedroom walls.  
  
The next morning I awoke about an hour before sunrise to the sound of a owl screeching somewhere in the distance.  The sound sent chills down my spine and my arms instantly went around my stomach, protecting my child from the faint noise.  
  
I had never liked owls, and to hear one in the suburbs of Chicago was rare and ill-fated.  
  
As a child, my mother had always claimed that since she did not believe in God, she had to believe in something.  And because of that, she was religiously superstitious.  There was no such thing as chance, everything was a result of luck and fate.  Every action had a reaction.  
  
The moment she thought I was old enough to understand, she began to tell me stories and myths designed to teach me to recognize the differences between good and bad omens, as well as how to counteract the bad omen if I ever found myself in a situation in which I could not avoid doing, seeing, hearing, or touching something that I should not have done, seen, heard, or touched.  And believe me, it went much farther than touching a button when you saw a hearse, or only picking up pennies that are head-side-up.  
  
According to my mother -- and anyone else who studied superstitions -- owls were the messengers of death and disaster.  Myth has it that if a man comes across an owl during the day time, he will be unlucky for the rest of his life.  And if a man looks into an owl's nest, he will be melancholy until death.  
  
It is also said that if an owl tries to enter a house through a chimney, the next person to clean the hearth will die before their spouse; because of this, in most European countries, the children are responsible for cleaning the hearths because they are the only ones not thinking about marriage.  
  
But to hear an owl screech at night -- especially in an area in which most can live their entire lives and never once come across an owl -- is the worst sign, especially for someone who is pregnant.  
  
To an expecting mother -- or in my case parent -- the screech of an owl signifies that the child will have to fight for its first few breaths, in addition to a premature birth.  And if the unborn child stirs as a result of the owl's screech, then the child will be ill-fated and have an unhappy life.  But what affected me the most, was that my mother had always told me that if a pregnant woman awakes to the sound of a screeching owl, then it is a sign that her baby will be a girl.  
  
“You're wrong," I whispered as I sat up in bed, my eyes fixed to the bedroom window.  "It's not a girl.  It.  Is.  Not.  A.  Girl."  
  
The mattress shifted ever so slightly, and when I turned my eyes back to where Pete lay, I discovered that he was awake -- silently watching me in the dark.  
  
"It's not?" he asked, his voice soft.  
  
I sighed and looked back at the window.  
  
"I was talking to the . . ."  
  
"The owl, right?  I know." -- He smiled and reached out to me, inviting me to lay back down. -- "I heard it too."  
  
"I thought you were asleep."  
  
"You know I never sleep, babe." -- The back of his hand brushed my hair from my face and traced a path from my jaw to my throat. -- "But come on, lay here with me for a while.  You don't have to go back to sleep if you don't want to.  I'll be awake with you.  I just want to hold you for a while.  You haven't let me all night."  
  
Outside the wind picked up a bit, and the house creaked from the sudden force of it.  Somewhere in the house a door opened, followed by the soft click of a light switch.  I bit my lip, glanced at clock, and then -- just like I had almost every night since I met him -- I yielded to Pete's wishes.  
  
By the time the sun rose and the rest of the world awoke, things had once again gone back to they way they had been before our fight.  Pete did Peteish things and Aggie fussed over all of the other things he could have been doing while she performed her daily assessment of my ‘current condition' -- as she so delicately put it.    
  
She pressed her hands against the baby to monitor its growth and movement, laid her head on my stomach to check the baby's heart rate, and asked me the same string of questions that she always asked.  How did I feel?  Did the baby seem to be moving more than usual?  Less than usual?  Had I noticed any excess fluid or even blood?  Had the swelling in my feet gone down or worsened?  And by now, the same questions every day had become almost bothersome, if not down right irritating.  
  
But before I could forget about Pete's and my disagreements for good, a repercussion of our argument surfaced that neither of us had been expecting.  
  
"So, Pete, have you been on the website at all today?"  Andy said so loud that I could clearly hear his voice through the cell phone pressed to Pete's ear.  
  
"Nah, not yet," Pete replied.  
  
"Not yet, hun?" -- Andy laughed. -- "Well, you might want to."  
  
"What's that about?"  I asked Pete after he ended the call.  
  
"I have no idea, but I'll be right back."  
  
I nodded and turned my attention back to the tea Aggie was making -- a strange, almost blueish colored, herb based creation that she swore was good for the baby.  The first time she had forced me to drink it, she had explained what was in it and what each ingredient did; but, I had long since forgotten and lacked the courage to ask her again.  All I knew was that it tasted like shit and that every time I drank it the baby would be given enough energy to kick for hours.  
  
"How do you feel?"  She asked me for the third time that morning.  
  
"The same as I did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that," I said, somewhat frustrated.  "Nothing has changed."  
  
  
  
"But you will tell me if something does change, right?" -- She frowned and pressed her head to my forehead. -- "I just expected your to go into labor by now . . . I was so sure it was going to be an early birth . . . but you don't seem to be showing any signs of going into labor . . ."  
  
"Aggie, I swear, I'm fi . . ."  
  
But before I could finish my sentence, I was caught off guard by Pete screaming my name from the bedroom.  
  
"Get in here now!"  He instructed, and I had no choice but to do as he said.  
  
When I got into the bedroom, Pete was sitting at the desk, his laptop open in front of him.  His fingers were moving a million words per minute as he deleted thread after thread from the forums -- the expression on his face a combination of anger and nerves.  
  
"Pete?"  
  
"There are over two thousand people on the forums right now . . ." he said through his teeth.  "And you're never gonna guess what they're talking about."  
  
A tap of a finger started the playback of what appeared to be a segment from a home video.  And even though the store in which it was filmed seemed vaguely familiar, it was not until the camera's focus switched from its intended subject to two others in the back of the store, that I realized exactly where the film had been shot.  The image was somewhat grainy from shaking hands and the stress of being resized, but the audio was clear enough to ensure that not a single word was left unheard.  
  
 _"And what makes you so sure about that, huh?"  
  
"Because I did the job you refused to do . . . I talked to your mother."  
  
"You fucking did what?!"_  
  
The very sound of it made me sick.  The baby kicked hard against the wall of abdomen, and a sharp pain went through my side all the way to my backbone.  I bit the inside of my mouth and closed my squeezed my eyes shut for a split second to keep from crying out.  And then, just as fast as it happened, it went away.  
  
"You see what some fucker has put up on our forums?  I just thank god that you don't show up as a fucking bitch on the video.  And -- goddamnit Patrick -- everyone's talking about it now.  Saying that we're fighting and planning something . . . Shit, there's no less than a million theories on here, each one even more fucked up than the one before it . . ."  -- Pete shook his head at the screen before looking up at me. -- "Most believe that we canceled the shows we did, because we had a falling out . . ."  
  
"Th . . . they think we broke up . . ."  I said, the anger and queasiness I had first felt faded melded into a whole new emotion as realization hit me.  "They think we canceled the shows because Fall Out Boy no longer exists . . ."  
  
"Yeah, but that's not all . . ."  Pete said, bitting his lip.  "Considering where we were, they think I'm hiding something else . . ."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"A baby."  
  
Not an hour after Andy had told Pete to check out the forums, the phone started ringing off the walls.  The first person to call was Joe.  He said that Andy had told him the news and he just had to hear it from a more reliable source before he believed it.  Next, it was the one and only William Beckett, who seemed more than pissed off that he had found out via rumors and not from the mouth of God himself.  And soon after Pete was able to get off the phone with Beckett, he had to explain his ‘version' of the story to no less than four dozen other people.  Even Chris called, only to have the phone hung up in his face when he asked Pete for the name of the chick he had allegedly knocked up.  
  
But the biggest shock to all of us, was when reporters for MTV, MuchMusic, and FUSE started calling.  MTV and Much wanted a statement from Pete about the video and the rumors; whereas, FUSE was actually asking for permission for the issue to be mentioned on SURS.  In the end, Pete told a similar version of what he had said during the press release he made when all of this shit started -- that the tour had been canceled because I had broken my leg.  Although this time, he also added that the argument in the store was had nothing to do with the band and that Fall Out Boy had not broken up and was not going to any time soon.  When they still did not get the hint, he told them to fuck off.  
  
Unfortunately, the media did not know how to take a hint.  In fact, they seemed to thrive off of the fact that Pete had turned them down.  
  
By the end of the day, I had seen the video played on TV no less than six times, and it was really starting to piss me off.  However, not everyone seemed irritated by it, and not everyone consisted of Andy, and well, Andy.  
  
He had came over soon after calling everyone in his cell phone address book and spreading the news of the video to as may people as possible; and now, he was stationed on Pete's couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, watching MTV for no other reason than to have the chance to once again laugh at our misfortune.  
  
The sudden pain and sickness that I had felt when Pete had first showed me the video had never fully gone away, and since then, it had actually happened three more times -- each time a little worse than the first.  Several times Aggie had placed her hand on my forehead and asked me if I was all right, and twice she had looked me square in the eye and asked me if something was wrong; and, every time I had told that I was fine without batting an eyelash.  
  
I was pretty sure that part of me knew what was going on, but the other half of my brain kept finding other ways to explain the situation -- stress, upset stomach, overactive kicking, even Aggie's infamous blue tea.  
  
With this in mind, I decided that the next time John Norris appeared on the television to once again cover the issue, I would do something very un-Patrick like.  I would open my mouth and let everyone in the room know exactly how pissed off I was.  
  
But the what pissed me off even more about the next time, was that I had been laying on the couch with my eyes closed for over an hour, and MTV just had to be an ass and discuss this issue not ten minutes after I had finally fallen asleep.  
  
"Is this the end of Fall Out Boy?" my worst enemy of the day, John Norris, announced in his overly cheerful voice.  "Well, we'll let you decide for yourself.  As millions of disappointed fans already know, Fall Out Boy ended their last tour a couple of months early last year, canceling over 30 dates in and around the North East, and New England states.  And, to add even more drama to the situation, soon after Pete made an announcement that Patrick had, "broken his leg when he tripped over a shoe while trying to carry a box of records up the stairs of his house," However, fans have -- oh so adamantly -- pointed out that the house in Chicago that is registered in Patrick's name only has one story.  It has also been noted that the property that Patrick owns in the L.A. area also lacks stairs and that must have been some nasty break to be keeping Mr. Stump off his feet for this long, so Pete's whole "stair story" is not quite checking out, now is it?  In addition, Patrick seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet, until now -- that is.  Last week Alicia Sudsbear, a fifteen year old Fall Out Boy fan, ran into the pair in a maternity store?  You heard right, Pete Wentz and Patrick Stump were caught on tape, arguing in a maternity store.  Here's what she managed to capture . . ."  
  
"Turn it off," I muttered without even bothering to open my eyes.  
  
"Oh, come on 'Trick," Andy said, laughing.  "Let us have our fun."  
  
"I said, TURN IT OFF!"  I screamed.    
  
My head throbbed like someone had landed a blow to my skull with the butt of a Browning 9 millimeter, and I felt like even the slightest movement was going to make me sick.  My entire body ached and my stomach cramped so bad I could barely breathe.  I had thought that last time had been bad, but now -- with the added cramps -- it was unbearable. The pain caused my vision to blur and my voice to catch in my throat.  
  
"Okay, fine . . ." -- Andy switched the television off and threw the remote onto the coffee table with a little too much force to be considered accidental. -- "You know, just because you're pregnant gives you no right to be such a little bitch all the time."  
  
"Just shut up, Andy," I said, on the verge of crying. "Please . . ."  
  
The shakiness of my voice drew not only Andy's attention, but Aggie's as well.  And before I could form another lie about being fine, she had already come to her own conclusions about the cause of my pain.  
  
"Fuck, Patrick," she complained as she pressed her hands against both sides of my stomach.  "I told you to tell me when you first started feeling off, not to wait until the fucking baby decided to tell me!"  
  
"Stop freaking out, Aggie, it's not the baby.  It can't be the baby . . ." -- I pushed her hands away and wrapped my own arms around my stomach.  -- "Just give it a second and it'll stop on its own."  
  
"Yeah, I know it will," she stated.  "It's called a contraction."  
  
"It can't be contractions," I argued.  "My water hasn't broken."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Wouldn't I know if my fucking water had broke?!"  I demanded.  
  
"Oh, I know you’re water hasn't broke yet," she said with a smirk.  "What I meant is, are you so sure that you can't have contractions until it has."  
  
"What are you ta . . ."  
  
She placed her fingers to my lips and cut my words off mid-sentence.  
  
"You talk too much, my dear.  Andy, help _Mrs._ Wentz here to her room.  I -- on the other hand -- am going to go and find _her_ darling _husband_.  Oh, and Patrick?  Get ready, 'cause if we're lucky, this could take weeks."


	14. As Intimate As It Gets

After giving me a thorough examination, Aggie had come to several conclusions. The first of which being that, even though my water had not broken, I was -- in fact -- in the early stages of labor.  
  
The second observation, was that even though my contractions had already started, my cervix had still not even dilated half a centimeter. According to Aggie, that was very good news. It meant that as long as I stayed in bed, it could take me days to go into active labor. And with each day the baby remained inside of me, the longer it had to develop everything it needed in order to survive on its own after birth.  
  
"All it takes is a day to make or break a premature baby, Patrick," she had explained to Pete and me. "I know you think this sucks -- but believe me -- if the baby is born now its going to suck worse for it than laying in bed for a week will suck for you."  
  
"It could take that long?"  
  
"Like I said, if we're lucky this will take a very, very long time."  
  
But the third and final observation was not as good as Aggie had been hoping to find. Instead of being head down and in the correct possession, my baby was breech. This meant that we had two options -- we either figure out a way to get the baby to turn around in the womb, or take the risks of delivering a baby bottom first.  
  
The latter -- if done incorrectly -- could produce serious complications for both the baby and me. It was considered so risky that hospitals almost always opted for a Caesarean section as opposed to a vaginal birth. But without the aid of a modern medical technology and a team of trained physicians, a caesarean birth would be a mother's death sentence and only used as last resort.  
  
"So . . . What do we do now?" Pete asked. "How do we move it?"  
  
Aggie sighed and smoothed my hair out of my face, ignoring Pete's question for a moment. She had not said very much since she had discovered that the baby was in the wrong position, and most of the things she had said had been read directly from one of her books.  
  
According to the books, there seemed to be no less than a dozen different methods that could turn the baby, and it really did not seem like as big of an issue as she was making it out to be. But over the past eight months I had grown closer to Aggie than I had imagined I would, and the one thing she did not do was over exaggerate a situation. And, to make matters worse, I also recalled her telling a story about the only baby she had ever lost in delivery -- a premature breech.  
  
"Aggie?"  
  
She shook her head as if she had just snapped out of a daydream and looked up at Pete.  
  
"Sorry . . . How do we move it?" -- She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes for a couple of seconds. -- "First, we're going to try pasque flowers . . ."  
  
"Pasque flowers?" Pete and I asked at the same time, but she had already left the room.  
  
  
Every two hours, Aggie would bring me another cup of tea, feel the baby's position, and check to make sure I hadn't dilated anymore. The tea was made from the crushed leaves and petals of the pasque flower and would increase the amount of amniotic fluid that surrounded the baby, giving it more room to move around. Also -- instead of tasting bitter like that horrible blue tea had -- the pulsatilla tea tasted more like honeysuckles than medicine. It was without a doubt, the only somewhat positive thing about the whole breech baby scenario.  
  
But aside from Aggie's regular visits and the occasional stop/start contractions, the next few days would prove to be relatively uneventful. I was not even allowed to get up to go to the bathroom or to take a shower unless I was accompanied by Aggie or -- once she had explained a million and one rules to him -- Pete; and, most of my time not spent sleeping was spent staring at the ceiling of Pete's bedroom remembering things about my mother from my own childhood that I had previously either overlooked or simply forgotten.  
  
"Do you think that -- subconsciously -- we wanted this baby at the time it was conceived?" I asked Pete on the second day of bed rest.  
  
He rolled over onto his side and smiled.  
  
"I'm pretty sure a baby was the last thing on my mind at the time, 'Trick," he said, letting his hand rest on my swollen stomach. "Why?"  
  
"I dunno." -- I shrugged. -- "Just something my mom used to tell me when I couldn't sleep at night."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"It's probably stupid, you know? I've just been thinking about it a lot lately," I said, closing the book I had been reading and setting it aside. "When I was little, my mom used to come into my room a couple times a night and check on me -- just to make sure I was still safe and breathing. It always upset her when I would still be awake when she came in. She sort of felt like it was her fault when I couldn't sleep."  
  
Pete was watching me as I spoke, his brown eyes studying the creases that formed at the corners of my mouth when I smiled, the way my hands twisted the blankets between them because there was nothing else to do, and the way my focus continuously shifted from the ceiling fan to the pattern of the quit, to the bedroom window, before once again falling on him.   
  
He was so content with merely watching me that it was often hard to tell when he was truly listening. But when I paused, he smiled and moved closer, wrapped his arms around me, and laid his head on my shoulder.  
  
"If she was my mother she would have been awake all night wondering where she had failed," he said, laughing softly.  
  
I smiled at him and pressed by momentarily pressed my lips to his forehead before continuing.  
  
"Yeah, but when she found me awake she would lay down next to me, hold me, and tell me that I had no reason to be awake, because when I was created, both her and my father had wanted me. She said that when a baby is wanted by both parents when it is first planted inside of its mother's stomach, then that baby is born into the world with everything it needs to be happy and content with its life." -- My hand found its way up the back of his shirt, my fingers ghosting over his almost golden skin. -- "Because when a mother truly wants the baby in her womb, her mind puts her body into overdrive, creating the perfect environment for a baby to grow and develop."  
  
"Sort of like when a cancer patient's will to live keeps him alive for years even though the doctors hadn't expected him to live more then a month," Pete stated, his voice soft and thoughtful. "But . . . if the baby wasn't created out of love, it wouldn't be wanted by the mother . . . and her body would actually create things that weren't healthy for the baby, right? And it would have an opposite effect -- like when someone is convinced they are dying, even when they might really be healthy . . . But since they truly believed that, they died anyway . . ."  
  
"Exactly, just like that."   
  
I laced my fingers with his and placed both of our hands on my lower stomach where I could feel the baby's hand pressing back against me. And although the movement was slight, the baby's hand could still be clearly felt through my skin.  
  
Pete sat up and looked back at me, his eyes wide with wonder.  
  
"I . . is that it's hand?" He asked, as he traced the small lump on my stomach with his finger. "Can it feel me pressing back?"  
  
"Yeah." -- I nodded. -- "And it also knows who you are."  
  
He leaned forward and pressed his ear to my stomach the same way he had seen Aggie do so many times, his hands barely touching my skin as if he was scared he could hurt the baby just by making contact.  
  
"Hey," he said softly. "Can you hear me, little baby? Your daddy does love you, little one." -- He looked back at me, his ear still against my stomach. -- "And even though you might not have been consciously created . . . You were still created because your daddy loved your . . . other daddy. . ."  
  
We both laughed.  
  
"Don't worry about all of those myths, 'Trick. Our baby's going to be beautiful -- even if it never sleeps."  
  
  
But I was not the only one with a philosophy on childbirth. Aggie also had several theories -- my favorite of which being a variation to the Holy Trilogy found in the Christian faith. And even though I found the Christian Bible a little too farfetched to be believable, Aggie's version of the Holy Trilogy left me with a whole new outlook on my baby and the part that Pete and I were destined to play in its creation, birth, and life.  
  
"Come here, Pete," she had said while she examined me on the third day. "You need to understand what is going on down here, so that when the time comes, you'll be able to deliver the baby."  
  
"What?" Pete questioned, his face a priceless combination of fear and confusion. "Oh, no, no, no, no. Very funny, Aggie. But that's your job, remember?"  
  
She laughed at him and pulled him over the side of the bed.  
  
"You silly boy. I might be the midwife, but you're the father -- or at least the last time I checked you where," she teased, wiggling her eyebrows in my direction. "Spiritually, a father is the only one who can safely deliver a baby."  
  
"Spiritually?" I asked, sitting up as best I could without hindering what Aggie was doing.  
  
"Yeah, spiritually, not in a religious sense of the word, but as in an overall expression of human sexuality," she casually explained as she pulled the blanket up near my feet, pushed my knees up, and caused me to cringe the same way she had every two hours since she had first diagnosed my contractions. -- "In reproduction, the father is actually like a farmer. Just like a farmer who plants a seed should go back and harvests the plant when it's ready, a father should deliver the baby he created."  
  
I could tell that her words had sparked something inside of Pete, but at the same time he was still visibly nervous about the risks involved in delivering a baby.  
  
In the same manor that two lovers hold onto one another during the climax of passion, the two should also cling to one another during the birth of their child. While the end of sex for the male of any species is in the actual orgasm itself, the female does not truly escape the throws of sex until after the seed planted inside of her leaves her body through the birth of their child. Therefore, the greatest expression of female sexuality -- and considered by some to be the true female orgasm -- was not in the act of sex, but in the actual birth process.  
  
"It's playing God," she added, her eyes locking with Pete's in an almost defiant way. "In a way, it's even putting yourself above the Christian God, because even though legend says that He created the first life on earth, not even He was able to create a child out of an actual part of himself and a lover. He formed his creations out of dirt, not blood. When you deliver this baby, Pete, you will be creating life from life, not dirt."  
  
He bit his bottom lip and looked at me as if wanting me to tell him what he should do, but all I did was shake my head and look back at Aggie.  
  
"What if I mess up?" he finally asked, his voice weaker than I was used to hearing him speak. "I don't know anything about this, Aggie. You do. I don't . . ."  
  
"But you do, Pete. Childbirth is human nature. The tricks and tips might be learned over time, but the actual birth process is something that all creatures are born knowing. It's instinct," she explained. "Just relax, if you want to be technical, all you'll really be doing is catching and cutting the cord. Poor 'Trick here will be doing all the real work. But on the spiritual level, you are doing so much more than that. You'll be completing the Holy Trinity of Nature."  
  
"How does the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost have anything to do with childbirth?" Pete asked, the urge to laugh suppressed by the seriousness tone of Aggie's voice.  
  
"Not the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost," I repeated to myself very much like one might repeat a riddle they had just heard. "Because . . . Because it's the Holy Trinity of Nature, not the biblical Trinity . . . It's a play on words? It goes back to the whole 'playing God' concept? Right?"  
  
Aggie opened her mouth to speak, but before she could answer, Pete beat her to it.  
  
"It's the mom, dad, and the baby. . . The Holy Trinity of Nature," he said proudly, a slight glimmer of achievement reflecting across his face. "Just like playing God . . ."  
  
"You see?" -- Aggie patted my stomach and then smiled at both of us. -- "It's the ultimate bonding experience, Pete. And don't worry, I am going to be here the entire time, instructing you with every single step and doing most of the work for you; but, most of it will be instinct. I won't even have to tell you half of the things you should do. You'll just know. I might be the midwife, but all I can do is remind both of you that you are the only ones who can give birth. I'm here to encourage and offer support, but I can't deliver the baby for you -- just like I couldn't have created it for you."  
  
And then, one of the most beautiful things I had ever witnessed took place, Pete put his trust completely in Aggie and agreed to deliver our baby himself.  
  
  
However, the next day did not slide by quite as uneventfully as those that had preceded it. I had been on bed rest for four days now, and even though I had been doing everything Aggie had instructed, the baby still had not changed its position inside of me. It was still breech.  
  
My blood pressure had also increased in the past couple of days, and we were running out of time in which we could wait on the baby to move itself. Either Aggie would have to preform a manual repositioning of the baby -- in which she turns the baby by manipulating it through the walls of my abdomen -- or we deliver this baby breech.  
  
Neither choice was going to be easy.  
  
"Okay, Patrick," she said as she sat down next to me on the bed. "How you feel?"  
  
All I could do was shrug. With each day, the contractions grew more painful and occurred more often, and today was the worst yet. About every fifteen minutes, one of them would nearly reduce me to tears. And even though it was no where near as bad as the pain I had been expecting, the thought of it getting worse scared me.  
  
"Yeah, that's what I thought . . ." -- Aggie sighed, her hand gently caressing my cheek. -- "We're not going to wait much longer for this baby to move itself, hun. I'm going to have to try to reposition it myself . . ."  
  
"Will it hurt the baby?" Pete asked as he propped himself up on his elbows next to me.  
  
"I'm not gonna lie to you," she said. "It could cause the baby to bruise, and there is a chance that it could cause the umbilical cord to sever or maybe even wrap around the little one's throat; but, at this point it's our best option."  
  
Pete cleared his throat and buried his face in his hands.  
  
"What are the chances that everything will go okay and the baby will be turned with no problems what so ever and we just get this over with?" He asked after a few minutes, his voice soft and shaky.  
  
Even though Pete rarely slept a full night, he had usually relied on his fucked up metabolism and various short naps to get him through the day; but, during the past few days, he had not slept at all and it was starting to show. His hands shook when he was not wringing them, and the circles under his eyes were apparent even through layers of day old eyeliner. There was very little that caffeine could do for him now.  
  
"There's about a fifty percent chance, right now, that everything is going to be okay, but if we don't do this, that percent is going to drop considerably."  
"Do it," I said, my eyes locking with Pete's. "Let's just get this over with so we can get this damn thing out of me."  
  
Aggie laughed and Pete actually smiled.  
  
"Now you're sounding like a true pregnant woman!" Aggie exclaimed. "Now, Pete, are you up for this? I'm going to need help to do this, but you're going to have to concentrate . . ."  
  
He nodded and ran his hands through his hair.  
  
"I'm fine. Just tell me exactly what I have to do."  
  
"All right, then let's do this." -- She pulled my shirt up over my stomach and unstacked my pillows so I had no choice but to lay flat on my back. -- "Now, Patrick, you might get to just lay there, but you have the most important part yet. If you at any time feel like something is wrong with the baby. You have to tell us. Even though it is it's own little creature, it is still connected to you. I'm going to be listening to the baby's heart, but if you feel something that you don't think is right, you're going to have to be the one to speak up."  
  
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. Aggie's hands were cold against my skin, and I could feel the baby responding to her touch before she even began pushing against it. But it was not until Pete's hands joined Aggie's on my stomach that I felt the biggest shock -- the baby actually moved towards him.  
  
"It . . ."  
  
"I know, I felt it," Aggie said with a smile. "This might not be so hard after all."  
  
"Felt what?" Pete asked, oblivious to what had just happened.  
  
"Don't worry about it too much, Pete. Just here," -- She put her hand over his and pressed against my stomach. -- "Do you feel that? That's the baby's head. And here," -- She did the same thing in a different location. -- "That is the baby's bottom. It's actually laying on its side facing toward you. You see?"  
  
"Uhm . . sort of?" Pete said slowly, his hands still on my stomach.  
  
"That's okay. Just put enough pressure on the baby's lower half for it to feel you, but not enough to hurt it, okay?" -- She put her stethoscope in her ears and pressed the other end of it against my stomach, holding it in the palm of her hand so she could monitor the baby's heart beat the entire time. -- "There you go, it's moving. Pull back just a little, Pete . . . Okay, perfect, keep it just like that and follow my lead."  
  
The baby kicked hard against Aggie's hand, making it obvious that it did not like what was going on, but she ignored it and continued to apply pressure. Pete was clumsy and slower to respond than Aggie liked. Twice she moved her own hand to his side of my stomach, pushed his out of the way and did whatever it was she had asked him to do. But right when Pete was reaching the point of giving up, a true miracle occurred. The baby had been successfully moved.   
  
"That went so perfect!" Aggie said. "Don't you dare move again, little one!"  
  
I sighed in relief and Pete merely fell back on the bed next to me, his eyes closed.  
  
"You should sleep," I told to him after Aggie had left the room. "I'm going to need you when . . . when it happens."  
  
"I know," he said softly. "I just . . . I don't want to miss anything."  
  
"Don't worry about that. I won't let you miss anything important," I whispered as I pulled him towards me. He laid his head on my shoulder, and within a few minutes he was sound asleep.  
  
  
Unfortunately, he was only able to sleep a few hours before Aggie pressed her ear to my stomach and declared that she had to deliver the baby as soon as possible. With every contraction, the baby's heart rate dropped.  
  
"It could be the umbilical cord wrapped around the baby's throat, and it's tightening with every contraction, or it could just be a freak thing; but either way, we need to I would feel a whole lot better if we delivered now," she explained. "We're also going to need one other person in the room to help with the delivery. So that leaves either Joe or Andy . . . Pete? That choice is up to you. I'm going to get things ready."  
  
"If I had it my way we wouldn't have either one of them in here," Pete said once Aggie had left the room. "Andy's an immature bastard, and I haven't exactly been to peachy with Joe lately, either."  
  
"I'd rather have Joe in here . . ." I said softly and Pete sighed.  
  
"Yeah, he's the lesser of two evils; but, I'm not sure if he's going to be able to stomach it."  
  
"Well . . . If he passes out, throws up, or has to leave the room then we can always exchange him for Andy if we have to." -- I laughed, trying to cheer up Pete.-- "It's gonna be okay."  
  
He smiled and squeezed my hand.  
  
"I hope so."  
  
Not fifteen minutes later Aggie returned, one of her bags over her arm and her hands full over various items. She claimed that when babies were involved, you had to be prepared for anything, because you never know what could happen.  
Pete's voice drifted through the bedroom door as he talked to Andy and Joe in the hallway. The entire time Aggie was trying to explain to me how the birth process was going to work, I was watching the door -- trying to catch any and every word that I could.  
  
It was driving me crazy that Pete had insisted on talking to them in the hallway and that I had no say what so ever in who was going to help Aggie, take pictures, or any of the other Godawful things that Pete might ask one of them to do. I feared that Pete's jealousy would prevent him from allowing Joe into the room during the labor, and that I would have to put both my baby's and my life in Andy's hands.  
  
I had nothing against Andy. He was my friend just as much as Joe was, but he was extremely irritating and immature in serious situations. The last thing I needed was him making some crude comment about how me giving birth reminded him of Ryan Ross with facial hair while I was trying to squeeze a baby out between my legs.  
  
Aggie also did not seem too thrilled with the idea of Andy helping with the delivery, but she was even more frustrated over the fact that I was only listening to half of what she was saying.  
  
"Patrick, look at me . . ." She demanded as she turned my face toward her. "When you feel a contraction coming on, you're going to have to push into it for a ten second count, okay? It's going to hurt, but you have to do it. We're not going to get this baby out of you without you pushing."  
  
I nodded, watching Aggie as she spread a stiff, almost plastic feeling blanket over the bed. Once that was in place she had me undress from the waist down and lean back against a mound of pillows she had stacked against the headboard of Pete's bed.  
  
"Cover up with this," she said as she tossed me a blanket. "I'm going to get those lazy ass men in here before I lose my mind over their pointless bitching."  
  
Her voice overpowered all of them when she made Pete's decision for him. All of them would be in the room during the delivery, that way if one got sick -- or kicked out -- there would be someone else who knew what was going on enough to help without having to be explained exactly what he needed do.  
  
"Okay guys, let's have a baby!" Aggie exclaimed, as she unzipped her bag and sat it within an arms reach of her.  
  
When Aggie broke my water, it felt like someone had all of a sudden turned on a faucet between my legs. Water gushed out of my womb and all over the blanket and onto the floor. It was by far the strangest thing I had ever felt, but before I could say anything I was struck by another contraction.  
  
"That's it, Patrick. Just breathe, hun," I heard her say as Pete's grip on my hand tightened. "They're going to be a hell of a lot more frequent now that your water's broke, because you're body knows it has to get ready for that baby to come out. You're going to be fine, 'Trick. Just keep breathing. You're already about six centimeters dilated, too! Amazing for a first time mommy."  
  
Aggie had not lied, almost as soon as I had caught my breath from the last contraction, another one hit me even harder than its predecessor. I felt my finger nails digging into the soft flesh of Pete's wrist as my head fell back in a silent scream.  
  
Pete was laughing, his own personal way of dealing with the pain I must have been inflicting on his wrist, but I hate to think what he would have done if I had accidentally fucked up one of his precious tattoos. And the moment the contraction ended he captured my lips in an unexpected kiss, his dark eyes locked with mine as his hand slid over my stomach.  
  
I heard Andy laughing and Aggie telling him to shut up, but Pete's hand was tangled in my hair and his tongue had forced its way into my mouth, and for once in my life he did not taste of toothpaste or mouthwash. In fact, he had not brushed his teeth once since Aggie had awoken us, and for some odd reason the mere thought of it blocked everything else out until another contraction sent me screaming into his open mouth.  
  
But even then, Pete did not pull away from me. His kiss swallowed my screams just like he had every time we had made love, and Aggie's myth about the intimacy of childbirth came crashing back to me.  
  
And as I threw my arms around him -- my lips pressed to his throat and my tears falling onto his dark skin -- I knew that there was no way we could ever be more intimate with one another than we were at that moment.  
  
"I love you," he whispered as his fingers ran over my lips.  
  
Aggie had pulled him away from him by the back of his shirt, her face as unreadable as marble.  
  
"It's happening too fast. He's not ready." -- She grabbed Joe by the arm. -- "Hold his legs back guys. Not up, just back -- like that. Andy, get the knife out of my bag, and those fucking clamps. And goddamn it, Pete, for the love of God hold his fucking hand!"  
  
I had never heard Aggie yell like that, and it scared me half to death.  
  
"Aggie?!" I screamed and I felt her hand inside of me.  
  
"Patrick, it's okay. Just this is when you're going to have to push for me, all right? We've got to get this baby out of you now. Now push for me, ready? Okay, Now."  
  
Aggie began to count, and before she even reached eight I could feel the baby moving down and a white sheet of pain seemed to rip through me. I cried out for Pete and even though I could feel his hand squeezing back against mine, he seemed far away. Aggie was counting again, telling me to push, but I could not tell if anything I was doing was right.  
  
The only thing I was truly aware of was the unbearable pain, and then Pete's hand dropped mine as the pressure inside of me suddenly vanished.  
  
"Why isn't it crying?" Pete asked, his voice nothing more than a distant echo.  
  
"Oh, God. Is he supposed to be bleeding that bad?!"  
  
"Get me a goddamn towel!"  
  
I was vaguely aware that I had ripped from the speed of the delivery, and that I had lost a lot of blood. On top of that, the baby was still and silent. Pete was screaming.  
  
But the moment Aggie cut the baby's umbilical cord and told Pete to calm down and take his son, the baby's cries filled the room and I lost consciousness completely.  
  
I am not sure how long I was trapped inside the feverish world between unconsciousness and sleep, but I do know that it was several days if not longer.  
  
I could feel Pete holding my hand, I could hear Lewis' beautiful screams, and I was vaguely aware of the soft purr of voices that surrounded me. In and out I drifted -- wanting nothing more than to join the wold of the awake long enough to hold my baby boy, to tell Pete to stop crying and to go to sleep.  
  
And then, through a haze of sleep, two voices rang out as clear as any voice I had ever heard while awake.  
  
"Is he gonna die?"  
  
"I . . . I don't know."  
  
But even though everyone -- Aggie included -- feared for the worst, I was determined to survive. Not just for myself, but for everyone around me who had always been there when I needed them.  
  
For Joe, who had spent the past two days sitting on the couch in the practice room in an almost comatose state, his eyes blank and staring straight ahead as if a single blink would ripple the fabric of fate.   
  
For Andy, who's footsteps continued to pierce even the deepest of my sleeps while he paced back and forth in the hallway, his ever present smile absent form his face.  
  
For Aggie, who had remained bent over book after book, determined that one of them would contain something she had overlooked, some herb she had forgotten to give me, or some other method that would provide miraculous results.   
  
And for my fans, friends, parents and so many others, who did not even know that my life was in danger.  
  
But more importantly I had to survive, for my new family. For Pete who had remained by my side since the birth, praying to God for the first time in at least two decades; and, for the infant -- our baby -- that he held in his arms who so far had spent most of its brief life crying.  
  
And with every passing day, I felt my strength slowly returning.


	15. The Best Part of Believe is the Lie

A week later I awoke to the blessed sound of a baby crying.  
  
After days of watching over me, sleep had finally claimed Pete, and poor baby Lewis lay on the bed between us crying his eyes out; yet, Pete slept on as if he were immune.  
  
“Hey baby,” I whispered, reaching my hand out to him and opening one of his tiny fists with one of my fingers.  
  
He whimpered and turned his eyes toward me. My breath caught in my throat just looking at him.  
  
I could not believe that he really was my baby, that he had came out of me. Another thing that shocked me was how hollow I felt now that I did not have that little life form inside of me, kicking at my ribs and making me sick with his gymnastic level back flips.  
  
“You look like him . . .” I whispered in awe.  
  
I had hoped Lewis would inherit Pete’s hair and complexion, simply because I always found my own skin to have been too pink and my hair too thin, but I had not expected our baby to look so much like him. It made me smile, but at the same time it scared me.  
  
The same day I had awoken as a female, Pete’s mind had already kicked into overdrive. He immediately began to scheme and compose an intricate web of lies and alibis that he could use to fool those fortunate enough to be outside of the small circle we had let in on our secret. His public persona depended on this being our dark secret – his dark secret – and in some cases not even I understood the things he did in order to achieve the secrecy he so craved.  
  
But one thing I had come to understand about Pete over the years was that – unless he had pre-planned a leak – he would do anything to ensure his secrets were kept, even if he had to betray the ones he loved in order to do so.  
  
And even though we had never addressed the issue, I had a feeling that – in order to prevent a public slip – Lewis would never be taught to refer to me as his father.  
  
The thought of my own child not knowing me or recognizing me as his parent tormented my dreams. I was terrified of the possibility that Pete would forbid anyone from speaking or acting on the crucial truth – that Lewis belonged to me and not to some halfwit bottle blonde that Pete fucked after a show one night and accidently knocked up.  
  
Lewis would be known to the outside world as Pete’s child and Pete’s creation. Lewis would have Pete’s name and Pete’s looks. He would live Pete’s life, forever following his father’s examples and destined to live up to everything that Pete is – and is not.  
  
There are so many aspects about Pete that the world has not yet come to understand – some that I am only just now coming to terms with – even though he loves to spill his darkest secrets through his cryptic lyrics.  
  
“The best part of believe is the lie, right Lewis?” I said out loud.  
  
My eyes clouded over with tears, but I held them back. Lewis had already shed enough to last a life time, but I had a feeling that there would be many more to come – from both him and me.  
  
“Patrick?” Pete asked and I inwardly cringed.  
  
“Hey,” I said looking up at him, the same smile on my face that I always had when speaking to him, only this time it was forced and fake.  
  
“You’re awake,” He said, stating the obvious.  
  
I nodded and reached my hand out to him the same time he reached out toward me, our hands linking the moment they touched.  
  
My eyes locked with his and for a moment neither of us said a word. Then – as if we had read one another’s minds – we both smiled and whispered, “I love you,” at the exact same time.  
  
And no matter how much I hated him at times, I knew that I would never be able to stop loving him. He was Pete Wentz and no matter what might happen, my heart would forever be beating in his hands awaiting the inevitable day in which he would drop it.  
  
But even then – broken hearted and spent – I would still be his prisoner.  
  
Not thirty minutes after Aggie had learned that I was awake, she embarked on what would add up to be a crash course in parenthood. Pete’s diaper changing skill soon surpassed mine, as well as his ability to make Lewis laugh; however, I was better at rocking, putting him to sleep at night, and comforting his cries.  
  
But every time we began to think we had learned everything we needed to know about babies, Lewis proved us wrong.  
  
If it was not colic, it was croupe. And if not for Aggie, we would have been lost beyond redemption.  
  
“Just relax,” she seemed to always tell me. “If you’re nervous, he’s going to fuss. You have to be confident you know what you’re doing. If you can do that, he’ll learn to trust you and he’ll feel safe with you.”  
On top of the trials of parenthood, I was still having to deal with repercussions from the birth itself.  
  
I had ripped pretty badly when Lewis was born and had to have several stitches in order to stop the bleeding. Aggie was adamant about monitoring my progress and was constantly having me drink vitamin-infused water and teas.  
  
My body was also going through its own unique cleansing process while my ‘female’ organs recovered from the strain of the pregnancy and delivery.  
  
“It’s just like an extended period,” she explained. “Your body will slowly filter out the excess fluid and such from being pregnant and will excrete these things a lot like the body would dispose of an unfertilized egg during a girl’s period. The blood will also work as a natural healing agent and will help you heal where you tore. It doesn’t happen to everyone, but it happened to you, so suck it up, kid. It will be over in a few weeks tops, and it’ll be good for you.”  
  
Like always – Aggie was right.  
  
The bleeding ceased after about two weeks; and, a few days later, Aggie removed the stitches and declared me completely recovered.  
  
Then, on September 13th, one month after Lewis’s birth, I opened my eyes to the world as a male for the first time in nearly ten months.  
  
Now, as I sit at the desk in the guest room writing the last words of this tale, Aggie is packing up the last of her belongings and Lewis is asleep on the bed nestled safely between two pillows. Pete says this will one day be Lewis’s room, but something about it seems wrong to me – like the room is too big and he is too small.  
  
And as Pete looks over my shoulder to try and see what I have spent the past week writing, I push him aside and wonder if things will always be this perfect.  
  
Somehow I doubt it.  
 _  
_

  
_P. M. Stumph_  
 _9/19/05_    

   
  
  
  
  
After several hours of devouring every word, the boy closed the last notebook and stared at it in disbelief.  
  
“Look in the closet in the guest room,” his father had absentmindedly said in response to a jacket the boy had somehow misplaced the year before. And for some reason, the boy had explored the one room in the house that his father avoided, ignoring the little voice in the back of his head that had tried to tell him he was simply wasting his time.  
  
It had been in that room, on the top shelf, in the very back o the closet, covered in several years worth of dust, that the boy had discovered the notebooks. And like all fifteen-year-old boys, once he found something, he had to ind out what it was.  
  
All together there had been three of them. Each one was the same shade of blue, contained page after page of wide ruled paper, and was filled cover to cover with a story that he knew he would never be able to forget.  
  
It was the story of his life, not the lies his father had created for him to believe.  
  
“I never really knew your mother,” his father had always said when the boy would bring up the subject. “She was simply one of a million mistakes I’ve made in my life, but I wouldn’t take it back for anything. Because without her, I wouldn’t have you.”  
  
But now that the boy thought about it, he should have figured it out on his own.  
  
He leaned back against the wall of the bedroom, his knees drawn up against his chest, and closed his eyes.  
  
As a young child the same face had always been present, the same grey-blue eyes had always watched over him, and the same arms had always held him in the dark whenever the monsters had threatened to claim his as their own. But as the years went by, he saw those eyes less and less until his father’s pride had ripped them away from him completely.  
  
Now he only saw a glimpse of the face he had once known through occasional visits and awkward moments when he would feel those eyes watching him from behind a newspaper or a car window.  
  
It was apparent that at one time the man and his father had been extremely close. And if the voices he sometimes heard arguing when he was thought to have been asleep meant anything, then his father had hurt the man terribly and all of his former friends blamed him or the man’s demise.  
  
“You guys drifted apart. No fucking big deal! It happens to everyone. ‘Love can’t save you,’ remember? You brought that damn Star Wars quote back in style, but that is no reason for you to take away the two most important things in his life!”  
  
“He stopped playing on his own free will . . .”  
  
“Yeah, because you refuse to let him tell that boy the truth.”  
  
That conversation had ended with the sound of the front door slamming. And when the boy had snuck downstairs two hours later for a glass of water, he had found his father passed out on the living room floor, surrendered to the two things he had always been so against – sleep and alcohol.  
  
The writing on the mirror became a rare sight.  
  
The seal on the mouth wash remained unbroken.  
  
But until the boy had found the dust-covered truth, hiding like a true skeleton in the closet, he had never once added up all of the signs that had been right in front of him all along.  
  
And even if he had, would he have even been able to believe it? Not likely.  
  
Slowly, the boy pushed himself to his feet – the notebooks held close to his chest – and walked back to his own bedroom, the coat he had been looking for long since forgotten.  
  
Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. But just when the boy was about to give up any hope he had of seeing the man again, his birthday arrived – bringing with it a very important guest.  
  
“Lewis! Come in here,” his father had yelled from the hallway. “There’s someone one who wants to see you.”  
  
The boy signed and smoothed the corner of one of the faded pages that – by then – he had all but memorized. He was tired of the people his father always had over lately – the people who seemed to care more about Pete Wentz of Fall Out Boy than the shell his father had become.  
  
But when he saw the man standing in the living room, his clothes winkled and his hat clenched nervously in his hands – his voice caught in his throat. All of the things he had laid in bed dreaming about saying disappeared and he did the only thing he could think of doing.  
  
He ran to the man who was both his father and his mother, the man with the grey-blue eyes and the soothing touch, the only man that could complete the circle and save his father, and threw his arms around him with a tear drenched ‘I love you’ on his lips.  
  
And – to the boy’s surprise – his father did not protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of a problem I experienced on FanDomination.Net when this fic was originally posted, I have composed an extended A.N. that further explains the various elements of this story. If you were confused by the ending, or would just like to get inside my head a bit more, you may do so [here](http://shinsolo.livejournal.com/9460.html).


End file.
